Baldur's Gate
by Vegetius
Summary: Chaos threatens the Sword Coast beyond the walls of the library fortress of Candlekeep, the primary export of war, iron, having grown scarce and brittle. As the lands plunge into the depths of fear and strife, an orphan is suddenly thrust along with them.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Baldur's Gate and all material taken directly from the game are strictly the property of BioWare Corp. and Wizards of the Coast. Some content is borrowed from the Pocket Plane Group, most notably those who worked on the BG1 NPC project. All original material is copyrighted by the author. All rights reserved.

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**BALDUR'S GATE**

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"He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster…

when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you …"

_- Friedrich Nietzsche_

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_**Prologue**_

Thunder roared overhead.

A man pushed open the door. Then he pitched forward to his knees.

His legs failed him. The weight of his mail – the stout bands about his legs and arms and chest, the horned helm upon his head, and even the golden cross upon his breast. It all forced him further toward the stone. It was a burden he could no longer bear.

But he caught himself with his hands. Somehow, he still had the strength to do that.

His arms, his armor – it had all availed him so very much in the struggle below. The shield at his wrist was bent and useless, and he had lost his sword. But he had survived.

He just wanted to tear it all away.

Dead! They're ALL dead!

He forced the useless thought aside. There was nothing for it now. But to run.

Run where, you fool!

He was becoming hysterical, he knew, teetering on the brink of sanity. Panic flooded his skull. Terror flooded the cracks of his mind.

But what was he supposed to do? A quick glance about the rooftop of that building quelled any hope of escape.

Who in the bloody Hells puts a fence on a bloody roof!

He bit back an oath.

Blood, so much blood …

No, no, NO!

Run, he had to run!

Where?

But then there were heavy, thumping steps behind him, and any choice he had was gone. Something massive flew up the steps from below. The thunder died, only to be replaced by that terrible cadence. His voice died in his throat.

Too late.

The wood of the door was bound by iron. It didn't matter. It splintered apart into so much kindling behind him, just as he turned his head. The demon crashed right through.

The man froze. And died again right there on the ground.

Forgotten. Alone.

Useless.

The light from the stairway behind flashed about it, hunching from the blow. But it slowly uncoiled. Golden eyes fixed heavily down upon him.

Then … it laughed.

It was a tall man, broad-shouldered and radiating cruel power as he stood before his fallen prey. That dark form all but obscured the stairwell behind. From helm to boot he was sheathed in black plates, shadows tenfold more sinister than those wavering in the light, with spines sprouting from the backs of gauntlets, greaves, and shoulders. A steel helm encircled his head, carved into the semblance of some monstrous skull – a gaping maw filled with teeth and two sets of curved horns sprouting from either side. When that terrible face found the fallen man's, he nearly screamed anew.

The dark-mailed demon had no weapon. But the man lying beneath him had seen the murder he had done even without one. The fallen man forced himself onto his back and scrambled backward as fast as his battered body would allow, not daring to take his eyes off the other.

"N-no," he pleaded as he slid along stone, his voice failing. "You can't!"

The demon's rumbling laughter continued unabated. Low and menacing.

"_I_ will be the last," he broughta black gauntlet to his chest, clipping the last word harshly. And then he stabbed one metal-dressed finger at the fallen man. He could almost feel the steel break flesh. "And you will go first …"

The laughter grew quieter, more amused, as the demon stepped forward.

_No!_ The man struggled to force himself away, fear wringing his heart with a fist of ice. _No! _

NO!

Stone stayed him as his back came abruptly against the edge of the low wall that surrounded the whole of the roof, and he flung a frantic hand toward the rail of the fence above it, pulling himself up to face the pinnacle. "There are others," he called back desperately. "I could show you. Please!" Darkness shrouded the streets of Baldur's Gate below. "Please!"

He had killed. He had done murder. He had had power once and thought himself strong. Worthy.

Somehow, a company of mercenaries at his back had made all the difference.

All gone. In the blink of an eye.

He twisted back about only to find the dark man towering over him. A black fist of mail struck hard right into the side of his face …

He couldn't remember how he got down to the ground. He was lying on his side. His helm clattered uselessly away against the slick stone beneath. Darkness pressed in all around his eyes, threatening. He lay there, uncomprehending, wide-eyed, and staring.

Then a dark hand reached for him, wrapping his throat in a grip of iron. It hauled him right back up from the stone as if he were nothing. He was staring blankly into the face of the black-mailed man then. Still laughing, the dark figure forced him back and through the metal fence, metal tearing and grinding as it came apart and he went right through. His feet dangled above the precipice below.

A little bit of his mind came back when he realized he couldn't breathe anymore.

He gasped for air of a sudden. But nothing came. Only those golden eyes boring into him.

Blackness closed in. The night grew thick and alive. Throbbing. Humming.

His blood had sung once. Now it betrayed him. It withered away and left him alone. Nothing but a weak, helpless husk.

The demon's grip tightened. Rasped pleas spent the last of his air. They tumbled out of their own accord, and he could not stop them. His fist hammered into the other's mailed arm. But his blows just grew weaker … and weaker … and …

The mailed fist squeezed and someone cried aloud. He couldn't recognize the sound of his own strangled voice as it gargled loudly into the night. The crunch of his throat being crushed was the last thing that he heard.

The light faded from his eyes.

The dusky man's own golden eyes fixed upon the dead corpse he held within his hand, narrowing. He stared at it for a moment. Just a moment.

Then he cast it away with a grunt.

The body hurtled down through the night air, limbs flailing wide and limp until they abruptly struck the cobbled streets below. The crash of mail and crunch of bones against stone clamored loudly in those dead hours. Blood seeped outward, seeking sinuous paths between the rounded cobblestones.

Morning dawned red, and bloody, upon Baldur's Gate.


	2. Chapter 1 Home of Tomes

_**Home of Tomes**_

Evelyn jerked back awake at the first sound of footsteps outside, soft-slippered feet scuffling upon stone. She winced, blinking away forgotten nightmares. Her hand found its way past her groggy, fluttering eyes to her forehead, easing the crease marks there on its own. And she took a deep breath, sneaking a barely cognizant glance toward the doorway of that small reading room she had been secluded away in.

She had fallen asleep again. That much was becoming more quickly obvious to her with each passing moment. During her studies. _Again_.

She could not remember when it had happened, or for how long, but those footsteps only got closer. She started pawing at the pages of the open book atop the desk in front of her, frantically trying to smooth them out again from her face marks.

It was stupid, she knew. But she always started to nod off if she sat there reading too long. This wouldn't have happened if she was outside in the training yard or doing something other than just sitting there. _But there's nothing better to do in Candlekeep than read_, she mouthed mockingly to herself as she scraped her hands across the pages. Gods, he was going to be _furious_.

The whole keep was a fortress of knowledge, the library taking up almost all of it. And what space they couldn't find above ground they took by burrowing deep down into the steep cliffs it sat atop, overlooking the wide horizon of the Sea of Swords. Secluded, highly regimented, and kept in strict isolation from the intrigues that occasionally plagued the rest of the Sword Coast. It had the finest and most comprehensive collection of writings on the face of Faerûn. And _he_ was determined to make her read every last one of them. Or die trying. She was never quite sure.

But it _was_ her father who passed beneath the alabaster stone arches that led to the small study room. He was coming to check up on her progress, she knew. Her head whipped instantly back toward the hastily flattened tome.

It was a small, leather-bound book depicting the exploits of a warrior, a necromancer, and an assassin and how they had come to godhood. She remembered that much at least, if he thought to ask. "The History of the Dead Three" read the cover.

She had to fight the urge not to sigh in front of him. Bhaal, Bane, and Myrkul. Gods. Evil ones, anyways. She would never understand why he found it so important for her to learn such things.

He moved slowly about behind her while she pretended not to notice. She hoped he had not seen her distracted. But then she winced at the still-rumpled pages where her head had been. Still, she stayed strong.

Eventually, he breathed out deeply and reached down to close the tome.

"You are neglecting your reading once more, Evelyn. Whatever will I do with you if you do not even make an attempt to learn?"

_So much for _that, she thought glumly. He always seemed to know _everything_ …

She sighed and twisted around in her chair, looking up to the old man. His hair had gone completely white in his old age, his skin drawn tight and wrinkled. She never really knew when that had been. He always looked the same as she could remember. Almost twenty years now she had been his daughter and that snowy, bearded chin and deep set eyes were still the same.

There was a crystalline cast to his blue eyes that made them especially piercing as they settled down on her, overpowering, until she sought the floor instead to escape that silent admonition. It helped a little … just a little.

In another moment they had softened back to normal, though. His voice followed as well.

"I had wished for you to finish as much of your studies as time would allow this day," he told her still a little irritably, "but I'm afraid that it will be impossible now."

She looked up at him. "It's still only morning. Why wouldn't I have time?"

He traded her bemused look with a guarded one of his own. He kept secrets from her. He pushed her away whenever she tried to pry to close into some things, yes. But, whatever it was this time – the doubts only flashed across his face for a moment before he brushed them away.

"I received a … warning," he offered, a little reluctantly. "I believe the time has come for us to make our leave," he continued slowly, "and depart from this place."

Her mouth fell open in surprise. It took her a few seconds to compose herself again. Well, maybe a little longer than that.

"Where? Oh, please tell me where will we be going?" She could hardly control the anxiousness that crept into her voice. She had never been allowed very far from the Keep's walls and now suddenly they were leaving? It was her first chance ever to escape that place and its claustrophobic library, even for just a little while. Oh …

She could hardly keep still!

But he shook his head.

"Alas, I cannot, for I have not truly decided yet. All that is certain is that we will be far safer on the move. Perhaps the woods might offer some secluded security, or perhaps the city of Baldur's Gate would offer cover amidst its teaming throngs of people. I do not know where we shall end up, but I have a few friends here and there." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm ... I will think on this..."

His voice trailed off as it did on occasion, his thoughts distracted. She waited patiently for him to become aware of her again. Well, almost patiently.

"Take this, child," he took her hand in his and placed a small pile of gold coins within it. For her part, Evelyn only stared wide-eyed as he dropped that small fortune in her hand as if it were nothing. "Go to Winthrop and gather whatever you believe you will need for the journey. Make certain to bring enough food and water to last several days. We will not be back here for a long while, I am afraid."

He spared her one final look before turning to leave. That swift pace belied his old age.

She glanced back at the tome upon the desk and took it in her hand, looking it over one final time. Then she swiftly returned it to the bookshelf that stood tall and full of dozens like it just beside her against the wall. She would not have to suffer any more studying for a long time, she hoped. She laughed a little too happily at that.

Wrapping her fingers tightly about the coins in her hand, she reached the other across the desk and closed her thumb and finger upon the candle flame. The small room went dark before she hurried away.

In no time at all, Evelyn was striding forth from the central keep, blatantly ignoring the chagrined and wrinkled old faces of the monks that had watched her charge up and down their silent halls to retrieve her belongings. She had changed out of her skirts and into a long tunic and leggings, stuffing several more sets of mismatched clothes into a virtually unused traveling pack that she now sported over one shoulder. She had not hesitated in slipping on her suit of leather as well, courtesy of Jondalar.

Knowing her to be a good deal quicker than one to stand long under his swift beatings, he had made it easy enough to slip over her tunic. It had certainly saved her some bruises when she proved too slow in their practice bouts.

Bandits were harassing travelers – that was what all the rumors coming into the Keep had said. If it was only to be her father and her on the road together she didn't think the leathers too bold. Besides, if they _were_ attacked, she wouldn't let him be the only one to fend off any bandits that might prove so foolish. That was what her training was for – to defend herself and others, right?

Right.

Aside from her boots crashing down along the library-keep's walls, it was not the studded leathers that aroused the most ire from among the monks. The slender staff of smoothed ash wood that she hefted in one hand was responsible for that. Or she was … whichever way they saw it. Still, no few of the tome-readers could turn a blind eye to the parading of weapons about their halls. They _were_ forbidden.

It was as tall as most men standing, certainly taller than her, the wood finely polished and intricately carved by her own hand as she had been instructed. Part of Jondalar's teachings had been to lathe her own staff to use so that she would truly understand how it moved and acted depending upon the effort with which she crafted it. It was a little pointless; she didn't think it would matter so much who made it so long as they made it well – probably better than her. But at least it was her own. That made it special enough.

Steel was rarely allowed in the hands of anyone within the Keep aside from the Watchers, and even they kept long blades at their sides more as a force of habit and custom than anything else. You could never catch one without his own stout oaken staff held firmly in hand. So Jondalar had taught her the staff, telling her it would serve her well if she ever got into trouble one day, though she could hardly see _that _ever happening – certainly not being cooped up in Candlekeep, at least. Her father had been furious at first, giving both her _and_ Jondalar the fierce side of his tongue, even though the stocky man was twice her father's size and all muscle. The old man had given in to her pleading eventually though, even going so far as to etch some letters in his arcane script into the staff. Jondalar had been scared half out of his wits when she had come back, even though her father had allowed it. She couldn't remember it without laughing.

Three broad steps spread outward and down from the small doorway behind her, cascading waterways upon either side as she stepped down. It was the sole entrance to the main keep, and the terraces about were sculpted to perfection. Flowers and carefully molded shrubbery blossomed and sprouted along the walkways of alabaster stone in almost idyllic fashion. It had always been a small paradise of hers, a place to which she could look and see nothing but beauty. She could not help sighing wistfully at that.

But it couldn't stop her. It would still be there when she came back.

Then she rounded upon one of the small terraces, and stopped. Four men were gathered about another, all of their voices raised in chant and song. They were singing about the Prophecies of Alaundo now. She had certainly heard them often enough in days past while hurrying on to do her chores, but today she actually paused to listen. All her life just waiting to get outside to see the world beyond that place, and now every detail of it just started to drag her back.

The chanters broke their chorus, and each began to sing his own verse. They were dark, and a little gloomy, though elegant and musical as well. The first man amongst the four spoke out with a baritone voice, higher than that of the others. "In the year of the turrets, a great host will come from the east like a plague of locusts. So sayeth the wise Alaundo."

Then the next voice came, thick, raspy, and reminding her of gravel. "When conflict sweeps across the Dales the great lizards of the north will descend with fire and fury. So sayeth the wise Alaundo."

The third man fell between the first two in pitch. "When shadows descend upon the lands, our divine lords shall walk alongside us as equals. So sayeth the wise Alaundo."

And the fourth sang with more vigor than them all. "The Wyrm shall wander the earth and such a pestilence will follow in his wake that all who know of his passing shall be struck down by the plague. So sayeth the wise Alaundo."

The words tumbled over in her head as she tried idly for a moment to decipher the cryptic speech of the prophecies as so many others had before. It was a special pastime in that place now all but dedicated to its greatest disciple. But then the final chanter was raising his own lilting voice to conclude what the others had begun.

"The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sewn in their passage. So sayeth the wise Alaundo."

The chanting died off then. And she just mused, a little too full of the thought of leaving, knowing it, and not caring.

The Lord of Murder. Bhaal. She remembered that much from her reading that morning at least. And shook her head. He was dead now, so they said. Bane and Myrkul too. All three murdered while mortal not long after she had been born, during the Time of Troubles. Ironic enough, she thought, and just that much less reason to bother with books like that anymore.

It made her sigh, a little wistful as those men convened and departed. She would miss that place, she knew. Nostalgia overwhelmed her vengefully for a moment, long before its proper time.

She wondered what it would actually be like to leave. She didn't know. She started to dread the thought just a little.

But suddenly, it didn't matter anymore.

A bright voice chirped in her ears, shattering that trance and breaking it as though it had never been. A slim young woman rushed toward her from behind, and Evelyn turned.

"Heya!" the girl called to her. "It's me Imoen!"


	3. Chapter 1 Fetch and Carry

**_Fetch and Carry_**

Seeing the slip of a girl with those oh-so-familiar shoulder-cut pinkish locks hurrying toward her, Evelyn started to grin anew. But she caught herself and forced a fierce expression instead.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" she demanded coldly. The other woman came up short, good humor dying instantly on her lips. She slowed to a halt.

Fists on hips, Evelyn glared at her, voice like ice.

"Winthrop has been looking for you everywhere! He needed the beds turned down and the pillows fluffed and the floors swept and the dishes cleaned and …" She was practically fuming as she broke off from the list of chores, the other woman's eyes widening with each new one added. Evelyn could almost feel the steam screaming out of her own ears. "He made _me_ do it!" she hissed. "He said I deserved it for helping _you_ in whatever mischief you were about and _lying_ to him about it!"

Imoen's face was a mask of horror. Her feet shifted as if she wanted to run, sure that Evelyn was going to flay her alive right there, but she stood frozen to the spot. Her fair cheeks were a bright crimson.

"I … I'm sorry, Eve … I didn't – I didn't mean to–"

Abruptly she had her arms around the other woman, laughing. It took only a moment for Imoen to realize the truth of it, joining in her laughter as she hugged her back. Evelyn shook her head as she pulled away to get a good look at the other's face. She was not disappointed at the way it scrunched up at her.

"That's not very nice!"

"Well I'm not very nice!" Evelyn retorted, twisting her face as cruelly as she could. It only made the other woman laugh.

Imoen and her were about the same age, but the other always seemed just a little bit younger by her readier smile and the innocent attitude she took with the Keep's monks. It always kept her a step ahead of their accusations for any childish prank that might be pulled in their midst, _always _certain that Imoen had something to do with it. And all too often Evelyn was drawn in as well, sometimes forced to suffer the same punishments. That was why it had been so believable.

Imoen could never keep her frown up for long. She brushed the joke aside like it had never been.

"I'm surprised that stuffy ol' Gorion let you away from your studies and chores." She waved a hand, fluttering her eyes mockingly. "That ol' fiddle faddle. I snuck off too. Old Puffguts Winthrop was looking for me, but I've got all day to do his chores."

Evelyn had guessed right, well enough. They could hardly blame the two youngest residents of the library for shirking their duties a little too often. It wasn't as if they let any other children grow up there to inherit all that work.

The other woman seemed to agree by her wistful look. But she dismissed the matter from mind. Her face brightened.

"You have time for a story today? No," she shook her head slowly. "I can tell you don't. What have ya been up to?"

Evelyn sighed, suddenly remembering. "Not today." She shook her head. "We're going on a journey. I don't know where yet."

Her best friend was enough to dent her excitement at leaving just a little.

"A journey?" Imoen mused. Her smile turned small and coy. "I never get to travel. Wish I could go with ya. Yep, I really wish I could. Yessir. Really do."

The pudgy innkeeper Winthrop was as bad about letting his own daughter outside the keep's fortified walls. For a moment, Evelyn tried to imagein the other woman with her gaudy clothing outside in the wilds. They were all in pinks and violets; blouses, tunics, breeches, and coats all that same lurid hue she painstakingly dyed them at her own expense – which was not much. She did to make an effort at flourishing those bright colors whenever she could. Winthrop hardly minded. The bald man always seemed to think it funny, encouraging it actually as some sort of spite toward the stuffy old monks. Next to Evelyn, she looked like some kind of bright flower.

Evelyn was dark next to the other. Dusky, even. All raven-black locks and dark brown eyes. She shook them ruefully at the woman.

"There's no way you could come, Imoen." She could not keep the almost tearful regret for dashing the other woman's hopes from her voice. "Gorion would never allow it."

He wouldn't either, it wasn't a lie. If he had said nothing to her or Winthrop then it would be only her and not Imoen. That could only mean that it must be important, whatever it was. He would surely have taken her best and only friend along otherwise. The woman was like a sister to her.

"Oh, I know," the other woman tried valiantly to look only a little disappointed. "Old stick-in-the-mud that he is, all worried about nothing, I'm sure. Better go now, 'cause you've got a long ways to travel."

She bobbed her head encouragingly. Then she stopped. Her eyes flashed wide in horror.

"Not … not that I would know," she stammered quickly. "Especially since I didn't peek at old Mr. G's private letters. No sir. Better go now, bye-bye!"

Imoen hurried away without another word, practically dashing across the terraces until she ducked out of sight around the stone of the central keep. Evelyn stared after her in surprise, glancing back over her shoulder. She half-expected to see a beet-red faced Winthrop puffing after the girl and was a little surprised when she did not. But she just shrugged it aside.

And she was well on her way outside into the outer courtyards before anything slowed her down again. A hand snatching her roughly by the arm slowed her down again.

It was Hull. She twisted around and caught sight of his face through the opening in his helmet. The familiar stout plate and wooden staff of the Watchers adorned his bulky form.

And so did the familiar reek. He had been drinking.

That tongue slopped around in his mouth a little, dark eyes flashing. He cast one aside warily before leaning in toward her.

"Evelyn, isn't it?" he breathed hard, and she nearly gagged. "I woke late this morning and left my sword in the barracks." That slippery grin only made her stomach turn more. "Be a good girl now and go get it for me."

"Oh, um," she hesitated, biting her lip. But there was no one even close. "I'm supposed to go see Winthrop at the Inn. Gorion told me that I had to." She pointed vaguely in that direction and nodded her head.

"Oh, come now, girl, do as you're told." He cast a furtive glance about. "Quick now, before the Gatewarden catches me without it."

She glanced away again. She hated when the guards called her that. And he was the worst.

His face darkened steadily as he waited for her to respond, and eventually she was forced to just nod her head.

Satisfied with her then, for the moment, Hull turned away and continued to pretend a vigil before the gates. Evelyn turned as well and strode away. As soon as she was gone from him, her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

Oghma, but she couldn't help her trembling. The drunkard had nearly … nearly …

But, no. She didn't dare speak against one of the Watchers. As much as she hated it, she was still a child in the eyes of the ancient monks.

She wasn't looking. Shaking, and fuming, she hadn't even succeeded in her twelfth step away from the man before another moved abruptly in front of her, blocking her path. She nearly collided with a bread chest of mail before she could catch herself.

She looked up. It was the Gatewarden.

_Oh no,_ she thought then, all but slumping there on her feet. _Just my luck._

The leader of the Watch was as aged as the rest of the monks. But where the old readers had withered to bags of shuffling bones, the Gatewarden was still a rugged wolf among doddering old sheep. And she was only one of the herd. Fortunately, his grievances with her had been few. Not counting Imoen.

"Soon be gone, will ye?" he asked in his baritone rumble, the tone of his voice making it seem more a command than a question. She didn't think it really made much difference.

She nodded.

At least the first thing out of his grizzled mouth wasn't a veiled threat to birch her bottom or clap her in irons.

_Imoen if you have done _anything _that might keep me from leaving, so help me I'll …_

"Aye, Gorion arsked me to make sure that ye are properly equipped with a weapon to defend yerself with." He looked to the slender staff hanging on her shoulder. "That will only get ye so far and 'tis always best to have another weapon to pull ye through a tight spot."

He pointed further down the path. "Continue on until ye find the barracks," he told her. "There I'm sure Fuller will help ye find one. Luck be with ye, little one."

Canting his head in completion of that task, the Gatewarden strode away from her, his back stiff and his eyes readied to see anything out of place. She almost wished that he would go and catch Hull, and give him a fierce tongue-lashing. But the man would probably only blame _her_ for it.

She turned a heavy sigh into a growl in her throat, stalking away toward the barracks instead. It was a place she tried to avoid as often as possible. She wasn't one to tease the Watchers with childish pranks. But Imoen was. And some blame had always seemed to fall on her.

_Not today_, she brightened her mood forcibly. _Nothing can go wrong today!_

She stopped in front of the door and rapped a hesitant knock. Someone barked for her to come in, and she quickly pushed her way inside.

The lights were dim, only a few candles illuminating the room that was all but secluded from the bright sunlight outside. A table stood in the center and beds were tucked against the walls to either side. Several Watchers milled about, dicing or sharpening weapons and tongues upon those losing at the dice. They all gave her a quick, lingering glance as she stepped inside.

Looking quickly away, she didn't waste any time in that awkward room before hurrying to the tall, mailed form of the Watcher she knew as Fuller. His grey eyes fell upon her briefly from where he sat before a table, a whetstone and a dagger in front of him. He had a tankard in his hand.

But he pushed it aside toward another man at the table, grunting. "What a mead-filled night," he was muttering to the other. "That Hull is just too much. Too much, I say. Poor fool had to go man the gate this morning, too. I don't know how he does it."

The other Watcher grunted noncommittally.

Fuller looked up at Evelyn then.

"Aye? What can I do for ye, girl?" he growled.

"The-the Gatewarden told me to come here," she said simply, glancing a little cagily about. She was more than a little outnumbered. "He said I could have a weapon."

Again, he grunted. "Oh, he did, did he?" He took another drink from the tankard as the other man passed it back to him and pointed to the staff on her shoulder. "What's wrong with that then?"

She cast a glance back to the ashwood.

"Oh. N-nothing. But he told me that you could give me another."

The men dicing suddenly cried out as someone tossed a winning roll, and Fuller cast a dark eye toward them. They quieted almost instantly, only sparse mutters for the man to be heard. Then he squinted at her.

"Now what would you be needin' another for? You know the Keep rules, girl."

She told him that Gorion would be taking her from Candlekeep soon on a long journey and he responded with yet another grunt, looking to the small blade upon the table. "I was just sharpening this one," he pointed. "You can have it when I'm finished, but it'll take a short while yet. Go and fetch me the quarrel of crossbow bolts that Winthrop promised me. I'll have it finished by the time you get back."

Evelyn stared at him. A little too long, because the man threw a hand at her.

"Well, what?" he snapped. "Hop to it, girl!"

Before she knew what she was doing, she had spun around and scurried back out the door.

Eventually, she found herself before the doors of the Candlekeep Inn and promptly pushed them open and stepped inside. The heat of a roaring fire in the fireplace at the far side of the room greeted her as the doors swept shut behind, polished wood stretching beneath her feet to lush. It was a quaint and cozy enough place. She had spent all too often a night in there with her best friend and father and the innkeeper, enjoying themselves well on towards morning when there were no chores to be done the next day. She turned toward a familiar face.

Winthrop stood behind a broad, cornered counter near to the door, straining girth and ready smile all. His face split with a broad grin as she entered and made her way to the counter.

"Well, hello there, young one," he greeted her. "Come to see your old pal Winthrop, have ye? Well, don't forget the five thousand gold piece book entry fee, as per Candlekeep custom, don't cha know."

Evelyn only barked a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If only I had that much gold coin," she said. "I'd buy your dirty inn and have _you_ sweeping the floors for a change."

"Haw!" he laughed, and she returned his broad grin. The man couldn't resist reaching across the desk and tousling her raven-black hair with a pudgy hand. "Just havin' a wee bit o' fun with ye, young one. Them monks may be walking about with poles in their nethers, but you know you are always welcome in my sight. Gorion did well by you, he did. Now," he clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly, "what can I do for you?"

She tried not to lead in with a heavy, irritated sigh. And failed.

"Fuller needs a quarrel of crossbow bolts that you promised him," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, he does, does he?" the round old man looked confused for a moment before snapping his fingers and quickly ducking beneath his counter, disappearing from view. Evelyn craned her neck to see over the wooden stand but he reemerged before she could. "Ah, here you are, young one." He handed the quarrel that he now held in his hands to her.

"My fathr wanted me to gather some supplies for our journey also," she told him before he turned his attention away, "if it isn't too much trouble."

"Oh, of course not, Eve," he assured her. "Whaddya need?"

She told him, and he retreated to the storeroom behind.

Standing in wait for the innkeeper, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. It forced her to twist about to face its owner.

"You're Gorion's young one, are you not?" an old man with features too fine for his age asked, scrutinizing her through squinted eyes as he held her in one place with two frail and bony hands. Then he carefully took in the full view of her. "My, my, but you have come into your own, if you would permit an old man jealous of youth to say so."

"Master Elvenhair!" she exclaimed, embracing him warmly of a sudden. The Elven sage was an often enough friend of her father's, and she had not seen him in some time.

"It's good to see you again."

"Ah, yes," he drew back, smiling, "I'm back within the hallowed halls of Candlekeep. With this iron crisis upon us, the trip from Beregost was more hazardous than I care to relate..."

She sighed as he drew into silent reverie. It was a tedious habit that she saw far too often. And he was only taken back from it as the doors to the inn suddenly opened to allow another elderly man, stooped over a cane in his old age, within. That one was dressed all in robes of deepest red, a contrast to the typical green of the monks.

"Ah, Firebeard, my old friend," Tethtoril acknowledged, settling his gaze upon the old Elf and moving toward him. "I am afraid I was detained, but now I will show thee of what I spoke of earlier. Come, come."

"Oh, yes," the Elf agreed and began to follow the First Reader out from the inn.

Firebeard turned to her before he left and remembered to bid her a good day, apologizing for not having more time to speak with her – perhaps later. She smiled at him but said nothing about their leaving. She would not talk to him later that day, certainly. But she would see him again another.

Tethtoril turned as well to notice her standing there. "Gorion has been looking for thee, young one," he told her. "He is waiting for you on the steps of the central library. I assure you, child, it is a matter of greatest urgency." His eyes seemed to harden abruptly, flashing deep pools there within his face before softening again. She blinked in surprise, hardly knowing whether it had been real or imagined. The old man had always been kind and soft with her.

But then the two were gone, leaving her to stare after. She wondered what was so important about the journey they were taking to demand a further warning of haste from the First Reader. It was enough to curb her enthusiasm a little more.

Eventually, Winthrop returned with everything. He had bound it all as tightly as he could inside her pack. She slung it over a shoulder.

She skirted Hull on her way back to the barracks, knowing she would be gone before he could do anything to her. But if she thought he was the last person to bump into her, she was wrong.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" a woman muttered apologetically after nearly taking Evelyn off her feet. She was scurrying about with her head to the ground.

The raven-haired woman clutched at her side, sucking in a breath. The other finally looked up.

"Oh! Hello, Evelyn. Have you seen my copy of 'The History of Halruaa' anywhere?" she asked, eyes dashing about. "I can't stand the constant arthritic feet up in the library … just thought I'd get a bit of fresh air and …"

She waved a hand helplessly and shook her head.

Evelyn started to hastily excuse herself, knowing – _knowing_ just who was going to have find that book, and pulling away despite her grievous injury. But a voice called out to them before she could. An old man in a simple woolen tunic and breeches was hurrying toward them.

"Phlydia!" he came to a halt before her, a bound tome in his hand, which he offered to the woman. "Phlydia, you left one of your books in the hay again, beside ol' Nessie."

She took the proffered book and looked it over quickly before smiling at him. "My book! Thank you, Dreppin."

The cow herder bowed his head to her and then turned to Evelyn, bidding her a quick good day as well before hurrying back to his cows.

"Oh, you remind me so much of Gorion when you look like that."

The other woman was speaking to her. Evelyn blinked, not sure just how she had looked. Or how the older woman's thoughts turned so quickly.

"Raising you has been hard on him, I know," she continued with a matronly smile. "But he says it's a toil of love, a toil of destiny, even. You must be a very special child, indeed, to draw such praise from a man of his silent nature."

She murmured some awkward thanks and turned away. The older woman had already opened the book to read more even as she did so.

Toil of destiny? She could almost laugh. If only she were so important.

"My thanks, girl," Fuller grumbled as she passed the quarrel to him, and he stood from the table, the dagger in hand.

"My father killed a hobgoblin with this once, many years ago. Stabbed it right in the back, he did."

He thrust forward with the small blade and a grunt as if he were his father those many years ago.

"It ain't no broadsword," he continued with a cant of his head, "but it'll do in a pinch."

He handed her the dagger.

"Watch your back out there, alright?"

Someone barked her name, a guttural, throaty sound. It made her jump in surprise as she stalked back through the courtyards, freezing in midstride. Turning aside then with wide eyes, she was looking down at a man a full head shorter than her and twice as wide. A Dwarf. He was standing in front of one of the storehouses.

"Eve!" he barked, beard bristling. "I thought I told ye to clean the rats out o' there yesterday, already. Hop to it!" he stabbed a meaty finger back behind him. "Get in there!"

She didn't even glance at the storehouse. Instead she cast back over each of her shoulders for some kind of help.

"I-I'm sorry, Master Reevor," she made the apology as sincere as possible, glancing away. "I can't today. I have to find my father and … and help him with something."

He scrutinized her with one narrow eye, the other closed tight. For a few, long moments.

Then they both popped back open.

"All right, girl," he acceded grudgingly. "Go find him. But hurry back here when yer done!"

Nodding her head fervently, her feet already moving, she hastened away. She didn't dare look back.

_So close!_ She forced a sigh of relief. _Why is my luck so bad today?_

No, no, no!

She scolded herself fiercely, stomping a foot into the ground. A passing monk gave her a reproving look, and she tried to look innocent until he passed on.

They were going. Nothing was going to change that.

All she had to do now was find her father.

She started trudging back toward the central keep. Whatever he had been doing, she hoped he was as ready now to leave as she was. Gods, but she had barely made it through that morning without–

THWACK!

She was doubled over in the dirt before she knew it. Pain sparked at the back of her skull and she grabbed at it fiercely with both hands, clawing into her hair. "_Burning books_!" she swore, wincing as she stumbled another few senseless steps.

A rock glared up at her from the ground behind. She gaped at it, seething.

It stung like a nest of bees!

She spun about still holding her poor, throbbing head in her hands, expecting to see Imoen's bright pink coat flashing around some corner, but what she saw instead was a dark-haired, thin man darting between two buildings. _Who was that?_ She wondered as she bent to pick up her staff from where she had dropped it. She hefted it in her hand. Whoever it was, she was going to beat them senseless and see how they liked it!

Who in their right mind would throw a rock at her? Imoen, that's who. Maybe not even her. But it wasn't Imoen. _Oghma help me, why does everything have to go wrong _today_?_

She hurried after the man as he vanished down the alleyway, ashwood staff held firmly in both hands. Her head still throbbed, but she ignored it. She rounded the corner of the Oghma chapel and plunged into the alley.

"Hey!" she called out after the dark-haired man, hurrying down the shadowed passage after him. "What's wrong with you? Why did you …"

The man abruptly spun about on his heel, rounding on her. His cheeks were hollow, the skin drawn tight about his face and in need of a good scrubbing. He _looked_ like a man to throw rocks at people for no reason at least.

Dark eyes took her in fully of a sudden, not sparing her words any heed as the gaunt man studied her. She took an inadvertent step backwards, suddenly nervous beneath those darting eyes. "Never mind," she stammered hastily, "I'm sure you're sorry. I'll just–"

His lips twitched into a smile.

She turned around to leave, but suddenly there was another man there, blocking the other end of the alley.

"'Ere there, what do we have here then?" The man was as big as an ox, and smelled little better, even from where she stood several paces away. "You're Gorion's little whelp, aren't ya? You match the description alright. She doesn't look so dangerous," the last he muttered, her ears barely catching it.

She rounded on the dark-haired man again, but he still barred her path.

"You _are _the daughter of Gorion, no doubt?" the gaunt man's smile became a sickly grin.

Her eyes darted from one to the other, and she drew herself up, willing herself to sound a little more confident than she suddenly felt. "Yes," she told them. "Yes I am."

"Oh goodie goodie! We've gone and found ye first!" the gaunt man clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly, flashing a sinister smile toward his companion.

"Do I know you?" she asked hesitantly, clutching the staff tighter in her hands as they each edged closer.

"No, I don't believe you do," the taller man replied. "We'll not be here long, so it don't matter. You'll not be here long either, so it matters even less. Just thought I'd have a look at you." He took a step closer and she took one back, realizing too late that it only put her closer to the darker man. "Pretty face, but I don't see what the fuss is about. No matter. We deliver your skull and we're set for life."

"W-what?" she stammered. Her knuckles turned as white as the ashwood.

"Oh, our encounter shall be quite simple for you." The gaunt man brandished a dagger. "Plainly put, we've made it our mission to end your life." He waved a hand. "Success will mean a little respect among our peers. So you see, you can do very little, except DIE!"

They both lunged at her. They boxed her in with daggers in hand. Evelyn screamed and spun about from first one to the other, the staff twirling in her grip. Steel stabbed at her through her guard, seeking some purchase upon her exposed flesh. But the ashwood was a whirlwind, sweeping them both aside. One knife flew free with a startled cry as she cracked a wrist. Another tumbled down from numb fingers as she struck a man square in the skull. The second one was down almost just as quickly. A sharp blow across the jaw and sweep of his feet sent him sprawling into the dirt.

Staring, wide-eyed – she sucked in a ragged breath. Eyes darted from one groaning man to the other. That other was still, but breathing. Somehow she had taken down that huge one, but he still writhed on the earth. Horrified – she leapt over him and dashed back out into the light.

Even as the morning warmth washed back over her she could hardly catch a breath of relief. Her thoughts still raced out of control. They couldn't have possibly meant what they said! She wrapped a hand about her throat, face paling. They wouldn't have ... they wouldn't have killed her, she thought fiercely. They couldn't have!

Hands suddenly grasped both her arms from behind. She gasped in surprise as she was hauled to her feet. She hadn't even realized she had fallen to her knees. Her fears died in her throat, however, when she caught sight of the faces of two elderly men in monks' robes. They were two of her tutors, Karan and Parda.

Karan's pale features twisted in concern as he studied first her and then the alleyway.

"I heard a scream, Evelyn. Are you all right?"

"What is wrong, child? Something in your eyes tells me that something is very wrong indeed."

Parda was scrutinizing her, assessing for any injury.

"I-I don't know," she managed and removed herself from their grasp, now steady on her feet if still shaking. She managed to bob her head toward the alley.

"There are two men in there."

One nodded to the other, and both age-worn faces became grim.

"Do not worry, child," Karan assured her, looking dubiously toward the alleyway.

"Yes, be on your way, Evelyn," Parda added, sparing her only a momentary glance now. "We will inform the Watchers and see that the matter is dealt with."

She hesitated, a little too shaken to move.

"Child?" one of the monks prompted when she just stood there for a few moments.

Her head snapped up. And she nodded.

The two old monks parted ways as well, Parda moving into that alleyway while Karan hurried off to inform the Watchers. She did not understand why anyone would even joke about attacking her like that. Maybe her father was right. It was a good time to leave.

Her father was back standing before the library when she found him. Casting his eyes up to the high stone walls of the keep, he looked a little sad. Remorseful, even.

She paused only a moment, letting out a vexed sigh. Finally! She had barely made it out without every chore thrown her way. The old man turned at the sound of her footfalls hurrying up to meet him.

"Ah, my child, I am glad I have found you."

A wave of relief washed over his pale face. She slowed, giving him a curious frown at that. But he only smled at the sight of her.

"This must be very unnerving, I know, but you must trust me." He placed his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. "It is very important that you pack your possessions so that we may leave Candlekeep immediately. Hurry, for there is no time to tarry! The Keep is well protected, but not invulnerable."

Her face twisted even more.

"What do you mean? What could possibly harm us here?" That place was a fortress, and guarded beyond measure besides. She drove all thought of the two men from mind.

"Candlekeep is indeed a formidable obstacle for ne'er-do-wells, but it is not insurmountable," he chided, a little more like usual. "No matter how thick the mesh, at least one mosquito always finds its way through. No my child, we must leave as soon as possible, for our safety, and for that of our friends here."

She nodded, though she still did not understand. It seemed as if he had lost any confidence in the safety of those walls at all. It made her uneasy.

"I'm ready to leave now." She hefted the pack at her shoulders.

"Good then, child."

He seemed a little too relieved. His crystalline eyes were still worried, but relieved all the same. It didn't make much sense to her, but then little had seemed to that day, so why should that be any different? He was moving past her then, down the alabaster steps, and drawing her along in his wake with a firm hand.

Soon the first arches of the main gates passed above them and they came to the second, the metal portcullis that barred all passage into the Keep. The Gatewarden did not allow anyone inside without a generous donation of a valuable tome. She hoped that he had remembered to carry one with them. Another would not be inexpensive or easy to find.

Then her father turned to her abruptly just inside the gates and took her by the shoulders once more. His face turned somber.

"Listen carefully, Evelyn," he told her. He wait until he was sure that she was, staring her down. She buckled a little under those heavy eyes.

"If we ever become separated it is imperative that you make your way to the Friendly Arm Inn. There you will meet Khalid and Jaheira. They have long been my friends, and you can trust them."

She frowned up at him again, not understanding why he thought that was so important. And it was. To him. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. But she kept silent for now.

_He'll know what's best_, she assured herself as firmly as she could. He always did. _He'll keep us safe_.

But she tightened her grip upon the staff in her hands.

Just in case_._

Without another word, Gorion turned, took her hand and led her out through the gates of Candlekeep and away from her home. She spared it only a wistful glance. It would still be there when she came back.


	4. Chapter 1 Demons in the Dark

_**Demons in the Dark**_

Gorion moved swiftly across the grassy meadow that sprawled out beneath the bathing moonlight. Night had crept up on them some time ago. They avoided the roads, concern worrying deep creases in his face. As Evelyn glanced anxiously his way once more, fear started to claw even deeper furrows into her stomach.

They trudged along with only the stars and the moon as guides. She started to think about the two men who had attacked her in Candlekeep. It was really just silly to think that they had intended to do as they said; Candlekeep was a fortress, and well guarded. But she had not seen their like inside its walls before. They had said that her … her _head_ … was valuable to someone, though. She almost wondered if they weren't just fooling with her.

_Who could possibly want my head?_

She shivered with the chill of the thought and the night air both, and wrapped the wool cloak that she had fished from her pack more tightly about herself. No, it _was_ a joke. Some terrible joke. It _had_ to be.

Her father looked back at her. His eyes softened for a moment for what must have been a truly fearful look upon her face.

Then they were hard once more, and he forced them back before him.

"Let's hurry child! The night can only get worse so we must find shelter soon."

An owl hooted loudly somewhere nearby. Gorion's wizened head whipped instantly about toward it with narrowing eyes. His pace quickened even more.

"Don't worry," he assured her without looking back. "I will explain everything as soon as there is time."

But it was a little hard _not_ to worry when he kept hurrying so. He was almost running.

She nodded silently though he could not see it in the gloom. Her heart beat fretfully now for what it was that frightened him so about staying in Candlekeep to brave the night with all the rumors of bandits floating about. Her feet were pleading with her to stop and she tried to ignore it, but all of her excitement for being beyond the fortress's walls had died some time ago.

The shadows were playing tricks on her eyes now too. They had hers darting as wildly about as Gorion's. She found herself wishing fiercely that they could just turn around and go home, find the warm, toasty fire at the Candlekeep Inn, and forget all about whatever it was that was bothering her father so.

Yes, a nice warm meal. Winthrop telling his usual silly stories about knights and dragons and princesses while waving his pipe around like a scepter. Imoen laughing at the fleshy old innkeeper while Gorion refused Evelyn fiercely any wine from the cellar. And Jondalar patting her shoulder and telling her she had done well for the day. Even a little tome-reading. Maybe …

She actually managed to sigh a little wistfully at that.

Then Gorion's hand knifed through the gloom, forcing her to stop.

"Wait!" he hissed, his eyes cast warily about. The sound of crickets beat back at them.

"There is something wrong."

Evelyn froze instantly, breath catching in her throat. Her knuckles went white about the ashwood, teeth clenched tight. But it was too dark for her to see.

The other's gaze locked upon something before them, though, shrouded in shadow and beyond her sight. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper, and as cold as ice. It chilled her right down to the bone.

"We are in an ambush. Prepare yourself."

Her whole body tensed even as it seemed to freeze over with the night and her terror both. Something was moving in the shadows.

_Bandits!_

Suddenly that thought seemed a whole lot scarier out there in the dark.

She saw it too then. A dark figure emerged before them, sifting out from the night. As it took its first steps out into the light, Evelyn's eyes flashed wide.

That thing was all spiked plates and steel beneath the veiled moon. A gaping skull crowned its creaking body, four curving horns twisting out from twin golden eyes glowing deep within its maw. Its broad form was as black as the night and twice as thick. And it was moving straight for them.

It wasn't a bandit, she realized with a sudden, gut-wrenching certainty.

It was a monster.

It stopped. And those two gleaming eyes crashed down mercilessly right on Gorion.

"You're perceptive for an old man."

A deep rumble erupted from that maw. It was powerful. Cold.

Her staff suddenly felt like a twig in her hands. Useless.

The claws had begun to work their way up into her chest.

She was trembling.

"You know why I'm here," that monster growled.

For a moment, those gleaming, feverish eyes fell on her and her heart actually skipped a beat.

Her skin crawled until she was sure it would slide right off her bones.

That gaze snapped back on her father.

"Hand over the girl and no one will be hurt. If you resist it shall be a waste of your life!"

Then Evelyn was aware of others crowding about the black-armored man, two large, yellow-skinned men in tattered leathers standing to either side of him, wielding monstrous spiked clubs bigger than her head. Muscles bulged and rippled all along their filthy bodies as they moved, swinging their weapons idly about. They were each bigger than any man she had ever seen, easily dwarfing the Gatewarden and even Jondalar and …

She gasped again, and her eyes went wide as one of those lumpy faces caught sight of her with a toothy grin baring fangs as long as her fingers. _Ogres!_ She almost breathed the word as the air caught in her throat. She had never seen one before, but she had read about them in the libraries – a dim memory of Imoen pressing a book into her face with a painstakingly drawn picture of a twisted monster and saying how that if she didn't start wearing nicer clothes someone was going to bind her in a sack and marry her off to one of those by mistake. Somehow, as she stood there then, the idea seemed more terrifying than anything she could have possibly imagined. But then the beast licked its sharp teeth with a grimy tongue, heedless of the blood it trailed from scraping its fangs, and she swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat.

Marry her? A voice wailed inside her head. It looked like it just wanted to _eat_ her. She cringed at the thought and had to gulp back her fear, again.

As fearsome as those two monsters seemed, they would venture no closer than half a dozen paces toward the monster with its gaping skull and golden eyes, somehow hesitant though they each stood head and shoulders above it. _That_ started all her fears for it anew.

And she suddenly realized then, with a sickening feel in the pit of her stomach … that he had meant _her_ when he had spoken to Gorion.

She was shaking again. _What could he possibly want with _me_?_

_Your head_, a voice seemed to rasp softly inside her, almost laughing. Her hand flew toward her neck.

She had not thought her eyes could go any wider.

A woman also stood beside the demon, sheathed in plates as black as the beast's own. She did not share the Ogres' fears, or at least it seemed that she did not. Her cool, dark eyes swept across both the raven-haired woman and her father, fierce augers that Evelyn could almost _feel_ breaking into her flesh. It soon became a challenge to decide who she feared most – her, the Ogres, or _it_.

"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence," Gorion responded with venom in his voice to match the demon. Evelyn blinked at him as well.

"Step aside and you and your lackeys will be _un_hurt."

It was so much more than she had ever heard him threaten anyone with before.

But the demon hardly seemed daunted.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way old man," that monster replied slowly.

It brandished a long talon in one plated hand. A sword. Wicked and devilish. Blackened and sinister.

_Oh Oghma_, she wailed silently.

Evelyn felt a wave of dread overcome her at its sight. Her breath caught as everything seemed to go still. The calm before a storm, she thought despairingly, remembering those fierce ones that roared inland from across the Sea of Swords. They had ravaged her home again and again through the years. And though they had scared her as a child, they had never once frightened Gorion. He stood now like he meant to challenge this one by himself atop the very ramparts. Evelyn could twist uselessly about. And try not to scream.

And then …

The storm came.

The two ogres moved first. Lumbering forward, their mighty clubs swung ready to smash the both of them. Gorion waved his hands, arcane words springing to his lips. Magic flared out from his fingers. A weave of blue energy darted forth toward one of the beasts, striking it in the stomach and engulfing its body in ribbons of light.

The next nearly reached him before he could bring more of his power flaring to his fingertips, red balls of light dancing within them before launching forward to hurtle into the Ogre. It howled aloud, doubling over.

Evelyn stumbled a step back, shaking too much to even breathe. Her father stood there calmly, fighting for his life against monsters that before that day had only existed in books and fairy tales. Power roared from his hands and tongue – so much so that she was ready to bolt as much from him as from those beasts. She had certainly seen him casting spells before. But never like this! If one of those had struck her she would have been obliterated into nothing.

She fumbled for the staff – pitted in the ground. It was the only thing that had kept her upright. She took it in both hands and just stared as the ashwood began trembling wildly.

She tried to look at one of those Ogres, still struggling with the energy that seared its very skin. But she had never before faced anything so terrible, hideous, and threatening. All that had ever wielded a weapon toward her had been those she knew would never hurt her.

_What am I supposed to do? _

She shuddered violently.

_Oghma, help me!_

A flare of red and orange caught her eye. She turned to see fire suddenly leap to life within the hands of the dark-skinned woman who stood beside the armored demon, the flames quickly taking the shape of an arrow. In another instant, it leapt for her.

Night burned away around her and then she was screaming, the staff tumbling uselessly to the earth. Her shoulder blazed, flames licking at her skin through the leathers that had been seared to ash, and she felt herself fall. The ground struck at her back.

Magic flared out from Gorion's hands once more as one of the beasts fell in agony to death upon the grass. The old man's eyes turned desperately to her in tears upon the ground.

"Run, child!" he cried at her as his power lashed outward to slay the other beast. "Get out of here!"

Her shoulder screamed. She was seething through tears, barely conscious. Her body flopped over onto its stomach, one hand clutching fiercely around the burnt and exposed flesh as if it might contain that blinding agony. A few more moments stretched on painfully to eternity. Somehow, she managed to claw her way back to her feet.

The armored figure glanced at her and then to the old man, moving forward suddenly as the mage let loose another bolt of magic to strike at the dark woman. The blast knocked her instantly from her feet. She hurtled back into the shadows without a sound.

Tears stung at her eyes as Evelyn snatched the staff up from the ground, half-choking on her own sobs. The demon made half as if to turn toward her, but seemed to decide that Gorion was the greater threat and instead closed with him.

She would have laughed could she have kept from sobbing.

_Her_, a threat!

Her chest heaved.

_Dear Oghma, it hurts so much …_

Ashwood in hand, she took a step toward her foster father despite the armored demon that strode purposely toward him as well, fierce death in those gleaming eyes. The old man flung more fistfuls of lightning at the dark figure, brightness flaring in the night to strike the other easily. It was like a thunderstorm raging down on those spotted plains. A tempest. The tears in Evelyn's eyes were as much for that horrible power coming from her father's hands as for the death that surrounded them.

But the black-mailed monster just grunted against each. And growled, barely slowing.

He just kept coming.

Gorion's eyes caught hers between casting fierce balls of light, his crystalline gaze boring into her with that same intensity they always had whenever she had disobeyed him. She drew up short so quickly that she stumbled, and she struggled as fiercely as she could against the weight of his unspoken command.

She couldn't abandon him! She couldn't!

Teeth bared and foaming against the agony already in her flesh, she could barely walk. Still, she screamed silently inside her head.

_Oghma! He's my father! I won't leave him!_

But she was already twisting about and away, her feet seeming to move of their own accord across the earth beneath her, swallowing great, stumbling tracts of it against her will. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, turning her back on him, the pain in her shoulder almost forgotten in that moment. But she couldn't stop it, not when she could still feel the weight of his eyes pressing down upon her. All she could do …

Was run.

But that did not stop her looking fearfully back over her shoulder.

The demon had closed with Gorion, the old man proving far defter than she could have ever imagined as the other fiercely made to catch him with that fiendish blade. Her father somehow managed to keep ahead of each swing. Sagely robes billowing wildly about in the night, he darted to and fro to avoid it, casting bolt after bolt of magic at the demon to stop it. Each struck. And each was as powerless as the one before it. Smoke scattered across the blackened plates but hardly slowed the beast after its prey.

Her heart was in her throat. And she all but gagged on it.

Something leapt up out of the night and took her off her feet. Her feet flung up into the air, her back slamming into the ground. All the air snapped out of her lungs. She was left there wallowing in the dirt.

But the thing did not move.

Before she could dissolve into a fit of tears, she twisted up to meet it. Howling in pain and terror and fury, all. But it didn't move.

Hands swept at her eyes. She sobbed. Then she saw what it was.

Just a tree.

She scrambled over behind it, crying out as her shoulder scraped against rough bark. The whole world went white for a moment, and she couldn't breathe. Frozen.

Eventually, the agony ebbed away.

Breathing hard, she managed to pull herself back over, peeking around that broad trunk. She watched in horror then as the two continued to dance around the clearing. Strange circles of stone encompassed it that she had not noticed before. They were only a few hundred paces away but she could see them clearly beneath the moon. Even it had come out to watch them fight.

Gorion extended one hand and magic leapt toward the black fiend's armor, striking it and causing him to actually stagger as he came forward. And Evelyn made a terrible realization then. She saw that gaping maw for what it was. Those plates for what they were, beneath the moon. It was no demon. It was a man.

A man.

Her father pulled away once more, but the plated fiend caught him by the arm before he could. Swatting it aside with one powerful, gauntleted hand, he sent the wizard tumbling over into the ground.

Gorion scrambled to his feet, his back to the armored man as he abruptly stilled. Evelyn's heart wrenched as she watched, willing him desperately to move, to flee, to live! But he merely stood there, still and unmoving as his bottomless eyes locked upon hers somehow from so far away.

The moment seemed to last forever.

But it did not.

The black blade abruptly burst through Gorion's chest. Blood spilled out to a fanfare of cracking ribs and ruptured viscera. The old man cried out, but was silenced almost as swiftly. His face was wide-eyed. And slack.

Tears streamed down the sides of Evelyn's face as the old man went taut, arms falling uselessly to his sides. And then the dark man put his boot to the other's back and forced his sword free. Gorion fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Evelyn stared.

She would have screamed. But she couldn't breathe.

She twisted away instead, air suddenly filling her lungs with deep ragged breaths as she slumped down against the tree. Sobs wracked her body as the image played over and over in her mind.

No!

Her fingers clawed at the maple trunk and the ashwood fell free to clatter against the roots. She wailed wordlessly in her mind, her eyes fogging over until all the world was a blur. But nothing helped – nothing eased that pain. It burrowed down deep inside her heart, a ravaging beast trying to rip her apart from within. It would not go away.

_No_ …

For long moments, she remained there, weeping softly as she refused to look back upon the broken body of her father. _He can't be dead,_ she sobbed, _he can't! _She refused the image again and again, and yet … she could not stay that black death even from her own mind.

_No …_

And then her thoughts died mercifully away.

The night grew still.

The sound of booted feet trudging through the grass toward her broke the silence. She stiffened, rubbing the back of her hand hastily across her eyes as she twisted about to see who came. She knew it could not have been her father. But it only took a moment more for all hope inside her to finally wither away and die.

The armored man strode alone toward where she remained hidden. His skeletal, helmeted head swung slowly from side to side, scanning the blackness.

"I know you are here, girl," he called out in the same heavy voice that spoke of nothing but merciless death and pain.

"Come out and it will _all_ end."

She covered her mouth, turning back about so that he would not see her eyes in the darkness. Or so she wouldn't see that blade thrusting in for her head.

His boots trudged closer.

"Your foster father is dead," he continued. "Why keep hiding? I _will_ find you. Come out and I will take _all_ the pain away …"

His deep voice mocked her with an almost comforting tone.

_Gorion_ …

She blinked away fresh tears.

His steps came directly beside her. The boots stopped just a few paces away from the tree where she was hidden. She pulled her face even further away from him and squeezed her eyes tight, not daring to watch. She held her breath.

And wait.

It seemed like hours. He remained, scrutinizing the night. All became silent. She opened her eyes and waited for the feel of the cold metal of his sword to pierce her as it had Gorion. Suddenly, it seemed so much more merciful than hiding in fear. For a moment, she almost wished that he would. The pain in her heart was too great to bear as she saw her father's dead face once more.

"I will find you, girl. I _will_. This isn't over …"

The booted feet carried the dark figure away. She still couldn't breathe. But then he was finally out from her sight and hearing.

Evelyn shuddered, fiercely, even there in the shadows.

She stayed there for hours after the man had gone, unable to move. He was still lurking out there. Somewhere. She hardly dared to breathe, sure that he would come charging back out of the night to finish what he had started. Her. And there was … there was _no_ reason …

She wasn't important enough. She was no one. But … but Gorion's blood flashed in her mind once more.

_I'm NOTHING! _

She screamed at no one inside her head.

_Nothing at all _…

Sometime later, she snatched back the ashwood staff, though she knew how little good it would do. Still, it was something touched by her father he could keep close to her heart when the demon finally came back for her, and she hugged it tightly to her chest.

It helped. Just a little.

But she stayed awake for a long time even though she did not want to. Her fear would not leave her until the night had grown as still as death. She almost felt as if she could have died, sitting there as unmoving as a corpse. But she hadn't. The dead didn't feel pain. The dead didn't feel _anything_. And all she could feel was cold, tired, scared, and alone. So very, very alone. Eventually, she stopped crying.

But those feelings followed her finally into sleep, turning into nightmares. She found no peace there either.

Somehow, she had hoped that she would.


	5. Chapter 1 Waking Dreams

_**Waking Dreams**_

The brightness of morning was what finally woke her up. The gleaming light of the sun streaming down so that it hurt her swollen eyes. They were red, and sore. The stricken form of her father was still fresh in her mind despite the sleepless hours she had spent reliving that nightmare in the dark. Still, she willed herself to weep more for him. She could never mourn him enough. But no more tears would come just then.

The grassland about her was far lusher while bathed in the morning light, the sparse willows and birch and maple, brush and stone, all contouring as if sculpted by some caring hand. It was what she had hoped would come of the journey Gorion was to take her on – what she had wanted to see. Now it seemed hollow, an empty place torn open deep inside her heart just as surely as the armored man had torn open Gorion's heart with his blade.

Footsteps sounded somewhere ahead of her, but she couldn't see. She hardly cared whether it was the man come back for her or not. She no longer had the strength or the will to flee. He had taken that from her too.

"Eve?" a voice called to her. She didn't even bother to look up.

"Eve!"

Someone hurried over to her. Not the heavy-laden steps of the armored man who had slain Gorion, but someone else. A hand touched the side of her face and pulled it up. She found herself looking into Imoen's green eyes. They were wide with horror now – horror at seeing her.

Was she really so frightening?

But, no_,_ she thought bitterly.

_I'm nothing_ … _She doesn't even know … she doesn't know …_

"Eve? Are you alright?"

She tried to speak but her lips were cracked and dry, a hoarse squeak all that she could muster. She had been so excited to leave, to follow Gorion out of Candlekeep. She had not thought to eat or drink anything. But then again, neither had he. There had been no time, she saw that now. If only they had left sooner, he might not have … he wouldn't be …

Thirst tore at her throat. Hunger ravaged her stomach. But she couldn't feel any of it.

"Oh, Eve," Imoen shook her head and pulled Evelyn bodily to her feet. But she could not have moved for the life of her. She took one step forward, Imoen's arm wrapped tightly about her, and collapsed to her knees.

"Come on, Eve! Come on!" the other woman grunted at her as she tried to pull the fallen woman back to her feet. But it was no use. Evelyn let her arm go limp, and pitched forward to the ground.

Imoen frowned, her face creasing even more fiercely than before. She let her friend go.

Her green eyes did not shed their determination, though.

"Wait here," she told her, squeezing her hand. "I'll-I'll find someone to help!"

And without another word, she was hurrying away across the plains toward the road, leaving Evelyn alone once more. The dark-haired woman hardly noticed as she curled up into the dry earth. She couldn't even wonder at how her best friend had somehow, impossibly, been there.

Sometime later, she could not know when, she lifted her head.

Everything about was bright and sunny, gleaming with the morning light almost in spite of that dark pain that had burrowed deep beneath her flesh. It felt hopeless, her sitting there alone beneath the sun where nothing at all seemed wrong. But she knew – she _knew_ the truth of it. In one night her entire world had fallen apart.

_But not me,_ she thought glumly. _I'm still here_ …

The ashwood staff lay next to her in the grass and she reached for it, working numb hands and fingers about the wood. Then she pushed it forward against the ground, forcing what little was left of her will into it and her legs until she was up from the ground enough to move.

Imoen had told her to wait for her to come back, however her friend had gotten there. Maybe she was a dream. A hope-stained mirage on those bleak, death-soaked fields. Maybe she had never actually woken up.

Maybe.

But the pain felt real enough.

The hundred paces or more back along the grass toward where she had seen her father battle the black-mailed demon was grueling. She had to drag herself along toward it. She could barely manage more than a stumbling crouch. Her legs refused her most of the way, or pleaded with her not to go any closer and catch sight of the horror that awaited her. But she didn't listen. She had to see. She had to know …

The grass finally gave way to stone and sand that bit into her knees through where her breeches had been torn along the way. She came into the stone circles she remembered. The gray-robed form she spotted easily, even amidst the massive bodies of the two yellow-skinned beasts that had attacked them. At the sight of it, she threw her body forward heedlessly once more.

She was at Gorion's side a moment later, and she fell instantly back to her knees. The staff tumbled across the ground and away from her. Slowly, she reached out a trembling hand to grasp his shoulder. The hem of his robes felt like ice.

"Wake up," she ventured softly, her voice so brittle it was a breath away from shattering into a million little pieces.

She shook him gently, willing the painful memories of the night before to leave her. They wouldn't.

"Please …"

Somehow, he was still alive. Somehow, what she had seen the night before was false – a lie. He had been old, but powerful and wise. He could have pretended to be slain. He could have merely tried to fool the armored murderer. He could have …

"Please …"

His form turned about as she pulled his arm toward her, moving him onto his back. As she found the gaping wound there, the blood dirtied and dried upon his robes and the ground about, she lost all hope. His eyes were closed almost peacefully.

"Wake up."

She slumped forward. Mirtul's sun beaming down upon her, she took his lifeless hand and brought it to her face. She buried her eyes beneath the folds of his robes.

She sobbed there, quietly, shaking her head slowly and murmuring that he was somehow still alive into his still form. They kept on like that for a while. The first time she could ever remember he had let her talk so much without once interjecting.

Then something brushed against her face.

She choked back a gasp before she could realize that it was only a crumpled piece of earth-soiled paper.

She blinked back her tears and took it in unsteady hands, unraveling it slowly until words came to her sight. They were something of her father, the thought came dully, something of him and a piece of him from when he had still been alive. It was an effort to keep the world from blurring in her eyes, but she began to read. He always liked it when she read.

_My friend Gorion,_

_Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in thy care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point._

_Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge thee to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point._

_I do not need to remind thee that it is still a dangerous land, even without our current concerns, and a group is stronger than an individual in all respects. I understand that Jaheira and Khalid are currently at the Friendly Arm Inn. They know little of what has passed, but they are ever thy friends and will no doubt help however they can._

_Luck be with us all._

_I'm getting too old for this._

_E_

Her fingers had curled into a fist about the letter before she realized it. And suddenly she was biting back yet more tears.

Memory and pain still burned bright in her mind. She shuddered there as more sobs silently wracked her chest. And her hands found the dagger then, the one that Gorion always bore at his belt. Her foggy, swollen eyes opened once more down upon him. She took both it and the letter and squeezed them tight to her chest, willing some piece of the old man to stay with her. But it would never be enough.

Still clutching the dagger and the letter both inside her numb fingers, she let herself pitch forward. Wrapping her arms about that cold corpse, she still managed to embrace her father one last time.

However long she lived past that day, she would never forget him. She would never forget her father who had given his life for hers. She had not been his child. Not by blood. She had always known that. But he had sacrificed himself all the same.

She had never loved him more than she did in that moment when he was gone. And she had never before wished so fiercely that he had been her true father from birth. Whoever her real father had been, he had never died for her.

All he had done was to leave her alone.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into the dead man's robes. "I'm _so_ sorry …"

And for a moment, as she lay there, she thought she felt the old man stir. His own hands seemed to tighten upon her in response.

But it was just her imagination.

* * *

There were hands on her before she realized it, tearing her back from Gorion. She clawed at them desperately, frightened for her life as they wrapped around her, shrieking in fury and terror both. Her arms and legs thrashed. Her fingers sliced at air. And she snarled like a wounded beast.

"Eve! Eve!" someone cried at her.

She ceased thrashing as soon as she recognized Imoen's voice. The other woman's arms tightened about Evelyn to calm her, those words whispering soothingly into her ear.

"Shhh, don't worry, Eve. It's me. It's just me."

But a man was hovering over them. He moved toward the bodies that lay strewn about within the stone circle. He surveyed each of them carefully, stooping low into the dirt and tracing some patterns with a knife as he did. All the while, Imoen kept hugging the raven-haired woman tight, murmuring consoling words that she could not hear.

Eventually, the man turned back on them.

"Bandits did this?"

Dark brown eyes studied them. Not cold or gleaming, but hard. Harder than almost any Evelyn had seen. It was as if a blacksmith had tempered and then hammered them into shape inside his skull. It was hard not to flinch at the feel of them.

Imoen nodded. "They attacked her and …"

She pointed down toward the fallen old man.

"They – they killed Gorion."

Imoen squeezed Evelyn gently anew when she tensed at the mention of her father.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Eve. I'm so sorry …"

The man had a bow in his hand, an elegantly carved piece of wood. Far more intricate than any that had been totted around the grounds of Candlekeep. He came over to them and laid it gently against the earth, kneeling right in front of the raven-haired woman.

He started looking her over entirely. That heavy, bludgeoning gaze lingered a little on her freshly skinned knees, but finally settled on her shoulder. The flesh there was still swollen and burning from the night before, and she cried out as he put a gloved hand a little too close to it.

"An arrow wound," he observed gruffly as he continued to study it. "Ogres are not know to have need of bows."

"There were two more of them," Imoen explained quickly. "They got away after. I followed you all day and night, Eve,"she continued in the raven-haired woman's ear. "I'm sorry … I'm sorry I couldn't help," she stammered apologetically. "I just – I just didn't wanna be left behind, ya know?"

She shrugged a little helplessly. But the other woman didn't really care.

The man pulled back the hood of his light cloak while he continued to study that wound, and Evelyn got her first good look at the fine features underneath. They were as hard and chiseled from stone as his eyes, splashed with some foreign markings upon brow and chin. The hair was long and unkempt, though – a brown mane held back from his face by a dark band around his forehead. It almost hid the tipped ears that were tucked underneath it.

He was an Elf.

That was the first she had ever seen beyond Candlekeep, and its occasional historian visitor. Had she felt anything other than what she did then, she might have even gaped and gushed at seeing an Elf out in the real world. But she only felt hollow. Drained … and hollow.

He reached down and began unfastening the laces upon Evelyn's leathers. But Imoen grabbed hold of his hand.

"What are you doing?"

He cast an irritated eye at her in return.

"Her wound is cauterized somehow," he growled. "The bandits sometimes enflamed their arrows. But they also use poison as well."

He had pulled a traveling pack out from under his cloak and was fishing into it.

"It will have to be cleaned and bandaged."

Imoen narrowed her eyes a little more. But released him. As soon as he had his hand back, the man continued until he pulled away the left side of the leather jerk, revealing the whole of the wound beneath. Turning then to the dead old man, he tore a length of cloth free from his robes. The pink-haired woman's eyes were dark and accusing once more when he came back.

"He is dead, girl," the Elf grumbled, ignoring her. "I can still do something for your friend, here."

But her eyes only blazed at the other's cold tone.

"He was her father," Imoen all but spat.

The man paused for a moment. Long enough to spare the raven-haired woman a brief glance.

"I am sorry for your loss then," he told her.

But her eyes were downcast. She just shook her head, barely hearing him at all.

Finally, he stood.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

After a moment, she nodded.

With Imoen's arms firmly about her, she helped Evelyn to her feet, holding her steady for several moments before bending close.

"Come on, Eve."

The Elf moved toward the bodies once more, quickly searching them before turning away.

"The Friendly Arm Inn is less than a day's march to the east and north," he told them. "You might find some help there."

But the pink-haired woman shook her head. "We have to go back home," she said, squeezing Evelyn tight, "to Candlekeep." She did not look at Gorion's body, but her silent words hung heavy in the air.

"That will do little good, girl," the Elf said simply. "Unless you have a valuable tome they will not even open the gates."

"But that's our home!" she protested instantly, face screwing up a little irritably. "They'll let us back in. I know they will."

The man only growled in his throat, though.

"You left that place? What did you think would happen?" he snapped at her. And turned away.

"Well?" she demanded angrily at his back after a few steps. One of her hands flapped frustratedly at her side. "What are we supposed to do then? Just wait here until those two come back for her?"

Evelyn only began trembling anew at the thought, latching onto the other woman

The Elf made another irritated sound, stopping. He shook his head, grumbling to himself.

Then he rounded back on them.

"I can show you to the Friendly Arm Inn. You should be safe there. For now."

"What about Gorion, huh?" Imoen persisted, trudging up angrily toward the other. "Who'll take care of him then? We can't just leave him out here!"

The Elf almost looked as if he would strike the pink-haired woman. His face certainly twisted up even more as if he meant to too.

Instead, he just thrust a finger at her.

"I offered my help so either take it or don't," he growled. "But stop wasting my time!"

She glared at him. And he glared right back.

"These lands are hardly safe anymore," he barked on at her. "Especially for two young women alone and unarmed. You will seek shelter immediately if you value your lives."

He twisted away with a scowl.

"We can reach the Friendly Arm Inn by nightfall."

The pink-haired woman kept on that challenging look for a few moments even so. Then she looked to Evelyn. The man was already stalking away.

Then she finally looked back over her shoulder toward home somewhere in the distance.

She winced. But she nodded her head reluctantly at the last.

"Fine."

"She will mostly need rest," the Elf murmured quietly with a brief glance back. "Especially after losing someone so dear."

Imoen took a moment before bobbing her head uselessly once more. Then she followed as the Elf continued his stride ahead along the plains. She pulled Evelyn along with her.

The raven-haired woman struggled at first, weakly. But her best friend pushed her with a comforting, insistent arm. She cast her eyes back behind forlornly toward her father instead.

Leaving him behind was even harder than it had been the night before. But it felt like someone else was doing it then.

_I'll be back_, she wailed soundlessly, biting back tears. One day. She would make things right.

She would.

Imoen's hand squeezed hers as they left her father behind forever.


	6. Chapter 1 Leaving Home

_**Leaving Home**_

The sun began to reach its zenith as the three moved steadily across the lush plains just east of Candlekeep, north of the main road Gorion and Evelyn had avoided. Cedar and maple trees dotted the land as they passed. The clarion call of the larks had cried out to her earlier that morning, but she had ignored it. Now finches and the occasional jay soared past and sang their song above the heads of the three and below the late spring sun. It would have been difficult to believe that bandits could attack anyone in that place.

They had forced some food into her, Imoen all but feeding her by hand, but it had all simply turned to ash in her mouth. She did not taste it – she hardly realized when her hunger and thirst had left her – but it was a welcome comfort not to feel so weak and useless anymore, even if it was only physically and could not dispel the dark memories that swam about in her head. She did not think that she would ever feel happy again.

"This is the Way of the Lion," the Elven ranger spoke up after a time. Though he made it sound a lot more like someone was trying to pull teeth out of him than offer advice.

"Keep your eyes open. There are bandits hiding all throughout these lands, waiting for caravans to plunder for their iron."

"Why are they after iron?" the pink-haired woman chirped half-interestedly. There was little else to do as they trudged along further away from the only home they had ever known.

But the man shrugged, keeping his eyes forward. "there is an iron shortage with the mines in the south if you had not noticed, girl," he growled. "I only know they have attacked many travelers like you merely to obtain it. And have shown much less interest in their gold."

"Oh."

They kept on in silence for a little while after that.

The Elf was tense, dark and brooding beneath the midday sun. His back hunched as he marched like the two behind him were weighing him down. Every so often the pink-haired woman would roll her eyes a little irritably at him. She gave the raven-haired woman a comforting squeeze.

Then the ranger stopped.

Imoen kept on for a few steps before nearly bumping into him.

"What?" she asked curiously.

She glanced around with a frown.

"_Quiet_," he hissed.

But she just bristled, mouth shooting open and cheeks flushing crimson.

"Hey! Don't you tell me to–!"

He pulled an arrow from the quiver tucked under his cloak, nocking it to the string of his bow. Imoen's jaw snapped shut, bringing her up short. She swallowed audibly.

But he pointed it up and away from her ahead.

"I can hear you moving," he snapped loudly. "I know where you are."

Imoen cast about in surprise, her green eyes wide and scanning the land around them. Evelyn tensed, trembling.

Then she nearly fell over in surprise as a small man appeared from beside the road.

It was a fierce little man glaring at them there, with tousled hair and adorned in rugged leathers. They were so thick on him they looked fat – a plump little ball of thick hides and scowling features. It was almost comical. Except for the naked short sword held tightly in his little hand.

Not him, Evelyn thought, chest heaving with the blood that had begun abruptly thumping in her veins. Not him. He was far away by now.

But that didn't keep her hands from shaking where they had tightened about the ashwood.

It was a Halfling. Or he looked like one, from the size. There was far too much hardness and age in those little features for the child's height he bore.

Imoen pushed the raven-haired woman behind her, stepping back. The ranger's bow was trained on something else out of sight, though.

"Both of you," he growled.

A few moments later, a man in green picked his way out from the trees ahead. His hands were held up, placatingly, but he bore no weapons other than the dagger still tucked at his belt. That one's face was painted like some jester, though, stringy, mangy hair tumbling loose about it.

The Halfling still held his sword out threateningly.

"Hold, Montaron!" the other man called to the Halfing in warning. A moment more, and the little man was lowering his weapon. Grudgingly. The man in green waited until he had before looking up to the three on the road.

"We mean no harm to you, kind people," he assured them with an amiable grin. "We merely wished to know what threat you posed yourselves."

That look was a little disarming. But it slid across his face like oil on water.

Evelyn cringed.

"A fine line," the ranger spat back, his bow still at the ready.

The man in green spared him an innocent look, opening his mouth. But then he suddenly caught sight of Evelyn, bright eyes fixing with her haunted ones.

She hastily looked away, paling. Those eyes were somehow full of glee and cold as ice at the same time, shifting back and forth so quickly in just one moment that it had almost made her dizzy. She gripped the staff tighter and will him to just keep them away from her.

Like so many other things that day – Fate was just so dead set against her.

"This young wayfarer is in need." The man studied her curiously. "Someone has set about thee, girl, and you have barely escaped with your life."

"Aye, Xzar, she looks to have been roughed up quite well," Montaron grated in a rough voice. It was almost sinister enough to match his vicious smirk. Evelyn's dark eyes darted furtively toward each of them in turn, suddenly wondering.

But, no. She had not seen them that night. She hoped …

"Indeed," the other – Xzar – agreed, nodding his head. Then he gestured with a hand.

"I can offer you healing potions, if you wish, as a," and he smiled again, "a token of good will."

He drew forth an opaque bottle from his belt. He held it forth with that same, sickly smile.

Imoen glanced at Evelyn. And then the bottle. She hesitated, but only for a few moments. And then she pushed ahead to take it. If the ranger had not been holding that bow, the raven-haired woman was sure he would have snatched the other before she got past him. As it was, she managed to grab that bottle from the other man's outstretched hand and hurry back to her best friend. The Elf's mouth hardened into a thin line as she passed.

"Nothing to fear from these simple potions," Xzar assured as Imoen offered it to Evelyn. The dark-haired woman only hesitated a moment herself before placing it to her lips. She kept telling herself they had nothing to do with the man last night. "And I'll not even hold you in debt, though your conscience knows otherwise."

"Just like all good people," the Halfling muttered.

Evelyn drank it. Slowly. She closed her eyes as the bitter fluid passed along her throat.

And the change was almost instant.

Suddenly, the pain in her shoulder vanished. Her eyes flung wide in surprise, hand reaching over to press fingers gently into the skin beneath the gray bandage no longer binding burned away flesh beneath. Her knees as well, still visible through her torn leggings, were once more whole, and the rest of it had all faded away as if it had never been.

She gaped in amazement, and relief. The potion had proven true enough to their word. But then she had the sudden, sickening realization that the liquid might have done anything to her – made her burst into flames or fade away into dust or something worse. And she had just taken it.

The ranger's hard eyes mirrored her thoughts well enough as they fastened on them both briefly with a fierce, reproachful look.

She had to learn that she couldn't trust so easily anymore. Not after that night.

It was a dark thought so alien to her and everything they had known.

She shuddered.

"We are on our way to Nashkel," the man in green told them offhandedly as they stood there with the Elf's bow still trained on them. "It is a troubled area and we mean to investigate these disturbing rumors surrounding the local mine. Some acquaintances are very concerned about the iron shortage," he gestured with a hand. "Specifically, where to lay blame in the matter."

They were both looking at the ranger then. The man in green had an open, hopeful look on his painted face. The Halfling's eyes darted furtively from him, to the two women, and back. His hand was still on that sword.

"Might we," Xzar ventured with a shrug of his shoulders, "be on our way?"

But the ranger didn't move.

Eventually, Imoen just glared at him.

"Hey!" she started to chide the Elf, hands on hips. "Are you gonna let them go or-?"

The fletching was back to his ear and flying free before she could even finish the thought. It plunged into the man in green's shoulder, his voice crying out shrilly as he was forced about and down into the ground.

The Halfling howled in surprise, short sword in hand. He rushed the Elf.

Imoen yelped, grabbing Evelyn and throwing them both down to the ground and away. Those gloved hands moved so fast they seemed to blur. Another arrow was already nocked.

The Halfling only got a few hasty steps. Then he grunted, stumbled another, and gazed down at his chest in surprise. That arrow had driven right through the leathers.

His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward, collapsing upon the road. The short blade clattered along stone beside.

Imoen pulled away from the raven-haired woman, looking up. Evelyn's chest rose and fell rapidly, staring ahead toward the two on the ground. The pink-haired woman only cast helplessly about the stone road.

Then she leapt to her feet and charged the ranger.

"Why'd you do that?" she screamed at him. "They didn't do anything!"

"Are you injured?" he demanded instead, ignoring her. Evelyn managed to pull herself back to her feet, staring dumbly at the two.

"You … you killed them!" Imoen struck a finger toward him. "You're … you're a _murderer_!"

"Shut up, girl," he told her irritably, turning away. "They will not be following us any time soon."

The pink-haired woman snatched at Evelyn, putting some space between them and the Elf.

"We're not going anywhere with you!" she snapped at him. "You're a murderer!"

"Do you not listen, girl?" he twisted angrily back around. "_You_ have not known the perils of the road as I have." He thrust a gloved finger toward the two on the ground. "They only offered aid because they knew we did not trust them. They would have killed you in your sleep!"

Imoen kept glaring at him, fists balled at her sides. He hardly seemed daunted, stony face scowling darkly back. Eventually, her resolve started to wither under that glare. She glanced toward the Halfing and the other man on the road a little doubtfully. The man in green was pulling himself with one arm toward the fallen form of his companion, heedless of the others.

"They would have killed you merely to take your gold, girl," he repeated, a little less harshly this time. "And more than that if we had let them."

He twisted back away.

"You have a lot to learn if you hope to survive."

Imoen narrowed her eyes at the weather-browned Elf, folding her arms a little self-consciously across her chest. Her eyes darted between him, the two on the ground, and Evelyn for a few moments more.

She scowled back at him.

"Now, come," the ranger grunted impatiently. "We still have a ways to go."

The pink-haired woman hesitated, but picked her way past the other two after him. She pulled Evelyn along behind, leaving the man in green scrounging on the stone as he clutched at the still form of his companion.

"Montaron!" he cried out suddenly, and Evelyn's eyes snapped back.

"I … I never loved _you_."

He loosened his grip upon the Halfling's leather jerkin, letting him fall back down upon that stone.

Evelyn shivered as the man's eyes caught her, briefly. They held only a shred of sanity.

She just quickened her step, catching up with the Elf. Imoen was not far behind.

* * *

A large stone rose abruptly from the ground just north of the road, glyphs scribed into its length. Imoen stepped toward the slab, tracing a finger along as she read aloud, "Lion's Way."

She turned to the ranger.

"You weren't fibbing about that at least."

He muttered something to himself, brown eyes flashing at her.

"Come along, girl," he grunted aloud. "The Inn isn't far."

He looked a little thankful for that.

He glanced at Evelyn for a moment before moving away to continue along the road. Then he abruptly came up short.

An old man was sitting there in front of them, resting upon a rock beside the road. He was garbed all in robes of crimson, a bent, pointed hat crowning his white-crested head. Deep and thoughtful eyes regarded the three, a wooden pipe dangling from between weathered lips. They seemed wholly unperturbed at the arrow leveled at them then.

"Ho there, wanderers!" the man groaned a little, stretching his creaking, ancient back up from that rock. His voice was a little breathless, but weary as he sighed aloud. Relieved.

"Wouldst thou stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man?"

The Elf had an arrow half drawn and ready before the old man could even finish standing. For one, terrible moment, Evelyn was sure he was going to let loose on that helpless old man like he had the other two. The breath caught in her throat.

But, he just held steady there.

"It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road," the other continued on in that age-wearied voice even so, heedless of the Elf and his taut bow. "And I've been without decent conversation since."

He pulled the pipe free from his mouth, now waving it about between the fingers of one hand as he spoke.

"Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged," he mused, and puffed a few rings of smoke from that pipe.

He removed it again a moment later.

"If thou woulds't pardon my intrusion, might I inquire which pertains to thee?"

Evelyn stared at the old man for a moment, frowning numbly against his eyes and the pain in her head both. That gaze seemed to bore deep inside as it fell on her, seeing things that she did not wish him to see. Things that she did not even know herself.

She stiffened.

And a hand rubbed idly at her neck.

_I have to learn not to trust_, she told herself.

But that voice in her head sounded like someone else's entirely. She did not feel like she could be that person. She just felt broken inside.

"Pestering strangers about their mental state doesn't seem so well adjusted either," the ranger uttered a little crossly. He still had that arrow trained and ready.

The other's face only crinkled in amusement.

"Point well taken," the old man nodded his grizzled head, squinting at the Elf. "Master Kivan."

He jabbed the long end of his pipe at Evelyn of a sudden, though.

"And what about you, young lady?"

He ignored the Elf's startled look as he fixed on the raven-haired woman instead, waiting for her to speak. For her part, Evelyn could not keep the surprise from her own face.

_How did he know my name?_

She looked suddenly at the ranger.

_How did he know _his _name?_

She regarded the old man a little more warily then. But he did not seem as if he wanted her head. Something about him seemed so soothing instead. His slow, unthreatening movements. Bushy eyebrows drooping over gentle eyes. Kind voice. It pushed away her fears and doubts and dulled the pain until she found herself almost _wanting_ to tell him anything. She felt as if she should have remembered him. Like he had always been there. But she would have remembered, she was sure.

"I … I need to find two friends of my father's," she said, finding some strength not to choke on it. "He said they would be at the Friendly Arm Inn."

The Elf – Kivan – looked to her curiously. Then Imoen. His eyes narrowed just a bit.

After a moment, the old man nodded.

"Thou hast answered my query most adequately." He pulled at the pipe, musing a little absent-mindedly to himself. "Mayhaps I shall think of thee as determined instead."

She blinked at that, but he pointed further down the cobbled road.

"The Inn is but a short distance to the north, and its doors are open to all. I have no doubts that they friends shall be there, waiting with open arms."

He moved forward and took her by the shoulders, patting a hand comfortingly. She thought it was a miracle the Elf hadn't fired at him right then and there. But he didn't.

"My sympathies for any hardships the road may have inflicted upon thee," the old man smiled ruefully down at her. "Though, I am certain everything shall turn out for the best."

Looking up into his ancient eyes, she almost believed him. Almost.

But then he was turning away.

He moved a short distance before looking up to the sun, now dwindling down in the sky, and then back to them.

"My, but I have wasted too much of thy time and said too much already. I shall take my leave and wish thee all the best."

Nodding to the ranger and then Imoen with a crinkled, old smile, he strode past them all without a further word and headed down the path back the way they had come. Kivan stared after him, while Imoen came to stand beside her best friend. The Elf finally let down his bow.

The pink-haired woman looked after the old man too. When the ranger turned back around, she was glaring at him.

"You didn't shoot _him_."

The man's eyes just flashed darkly right back.

"You are trying my patience girl," he growled at her. "If it were not for your clearly distraught companion and your own dangerous ignorance, I would have sent you on your way with no more than directions to the Inn!"

He pushed past them and started again down that road, hefting the bow in hand.

"I will see you safely to the Inn," he muttered without looking back. "Do what you will from there."

Imoen shook her head, narrowing her eyes at his back. But both women followed along, trailing the path north toward the Inn. Evelyn felt some hope worm its way back into her heart as they did so, blunting the edge of those painful memories, even if just a little. Gorion had said there would be friends at the Friendly Arm Inn – friends that he trusted. It gave her some hope, so little, but enough, at least, to make the world about seem just a little less threatening and hopeless for a time.

_Please_ …

_Let him be far away._


	7. Chapter 1 Friendly Arms

_**Friendly Arms**_

A large, wooden drawbridge clattered down upon stone at the height of the ravine that ran below, two guards moving to stand to either side of it. Ramparts towered up above it next to the gatehouse, running all along the small ravine about the squat buildings and paths within. At its far end, a stone keep stabbed up toward the blackened sky.

Night had arrived just before the two women and the ranger, casting shadows across the path as it ended in front of the gates of the walls. The drawbridge had been drawn up as night fell, but the guards had lowered it as soon as Kivan had called up and convinced them that they were no threat. What two young women and an Elf could possibly do to that fortress, Evelyn did not know.

"Welcome to the Friendly Arm," one of the guards greeted stiffly, holding up a hand as they neared. The ranger came to a swift halt. "I trust you know the rules of conduct within?" the man asked.

Kivan just nodded a little irritably at that.

"I have been here before."

The guard canted his head after a moment, seeming satisfied.

"Good then. Enjoy your stay."

Kivan didn't waste another moment before dragging them along inside.

"Come on."

The road turned into a rough-hewn stone path full of mud beneath them, dividing to wind its way along toward the small buildings drawn up tightly against the outer wall. The inn itself lay in the center keep, the whole place seeming more a castle than a place for wayward travelers to sleep. It was ancient though, or else very very old, Eve was sure. So maybe it had been once. But the only soldiers that frequented it then were the guards in their rough leathers with spears. Still, it reminded her a little of Candlekeep, and, as the drawbridge drew back up behind them, she thought she just might be safe at last. It was a comforting thought.

Kivan paid little heed to the scattered men and women that went about their business at that late hour, continuing on toward the keep. Undoubtedly he knew his destination was in sight and the end to his aid for his two charges with it. It hardly bothered Evelyn. After seeing what he had done to those men on the road …

Erik was the only one in Candlekeep who had had that kind of skill with a bow. And the Elf was even faster.

She didn't care to stick around and find out how fast he could be if he decided they really were too much trouble after all.

A myriad of stone steps climbed up steadily before them to arrive finally at a great wooden gate built into the side of the keep. Torches in sconces burned brightly all up along its length, casting away the shadows of night. Kivan hardly paused before marching up and pushing those doors aside, loosing the golden light of revelry inside to spill out like a wave onto the black steps. With it came sound, a deafening roar that would have easily drowned out anything that she had ever known in the common room at the Candlekeep Inn. Even at its fullest and the drinking at its heaviest. It was an effort for Evelyn not to cover her ears.

The ranger spared the noise little more than a scowl, tugging the cowl of his cloak further down, before stepping inside. Imoen followed swiftly, excitement painted bright on her face. Evelyn could imagine that her own seemed somewhat less so as she trudged after.

People were everywhere, all enjoying themselves, standing or seated at the dozens of rounded tables crowding the room, drinking ale from wooden flagons or cajoling barmaids and getting a mischievous grin as often as an open-palmed slap in the face to the laughter of the other men about. Dice rattled between cheering cries and angry mutters from some corners, stone-faced men playing bluffly at cards in others. Coins passed hands frequently, not always with kind eyes or laughs behind them, and the smells of roasting meats filled the air.

It was all Evelyn could do not to feel sick to her stomach.

The pushed through all that drunken revelry as quickly as possible, thankfully. There was a countertop and bar on the other side of that huge common room that must have been the main hall of the castle in ages past. Imoen went right up to and glanced curiously about.

"Where's the innkeeper?"

Kivan shot her a dark eye just as a small man in a gaily brocaded vest and trousers poked up from behind the counter, his balding head the first sign of his coming. "Bentley Mirrorshade," he exclaimed a little breathlessly at them, throwing a rag back across his shoulder and scuffing his hands. "Owner of this place," he continued, studying each for a moment. "None too many travelers been through her lately, what with the supposed troubles down south. What can I do for ya?"

"A room for the night," Imoen offered, clutching eagerly at the bartop. She pulled free a purse from her belt and counted out a few coins. "That should do it," she said, putting them down atop the wood and sliding them over to the innkeeper.

Evelyn gave her friend's back a crestfallen look she could not see. She knew that Imoen could not have had much coin. That would have probably been most of anything she had saved. But they didn't have much choice.

"Make that two," the ranger grunted after another moment, interrupting as the small man took the pink-haired woman's coin. She rounded instantly on the Elf.

"I thought you were leaving?" she demanded, a little too harshly. Kivan narrowed his eyes in turn, but brushed her words aside with a few more coins on the counter.

"I do not answer to you, girl," he growled. But the innkeeper gladly took his money as well. "It is already too late to move on tonight."

Imoen gave him a wide-eyed, anxious and irritated look. After everything she had seen of the man that day already, Evelyn didn't blame her. He might have said he was helping them, but he sure didn't make her feel any safer. She would have been just as glad to be rid of the Elf as well.

"I'm afraid most of the larger rooms are taken," the little man – a Gnome, Evelyn realized – told them then. "I can give you three of the smaller rooms on the third floor," he bobbed his head encouragingly. "No additional charge, of course."

Imoen started to protest, but the Elf brusquely cut her off.

"That will be fine."

"Come on, Eve," she said, flashing the ranger a warning look. "I'll take ya up so you can get some sleep."

"And what of the two friends you were to meet here?" the ranger grunted after them. The pink-haired woman only cast him another icy glare.

"Why don't you mind your own business?" she snapped back. It wasn't exactly the thanks he deserved, but it was good enough to keep their distance from him.

Another voice broke in before she could turn back around, though.

"Forgive me if I pry," a younger man in a dark tunic spoke up from beside the bar, pushing away towards them. "But you are looking for two friends here?"

He moved past the Elf toward the two women. Imoen cocked a dubious eyebrow at him as he did.

"Maybe," she said, folding her arms across her chest. However, it was Evelyn the man was looking at then.

"I have not seen you here before today," he said. Then smiled a little hopefully at her. "Might your name be Evelyn? Of Candlekeep?"

The raven-haired woman blinked at him, frowning. So did the pink-haired woman. She hesitated.

"You must be who I am to meet," he pushed on even so, studying her more intently. "I would take you to your friends, but first I must be sure you are the correct person."

At that, she opened her mouth.

"Where are they?" she asked, anxious to find the two Gorion had told her she could trust. She glanced around the room.

"Oh," his smile blossomed full, "right over there." He pointed acorss the room. However, when the two women twisted about that way, the corner stood empty.

The man's hand fell away slowly as he glanced about.

"It is late in the evening," he told them with an amicable shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose they could be resting in their rooms. They are the only two here that bear Elven features."

He flashed Evelyn a smile. It almost seemed a touch predatory, and not so warm as it had a moment ago.

"Well," he took a heavy breath, "I will bid you goodnight then."

Without another word, he turned and strode quickly away, back into the common room.

Evelyn and Imoen both stared after him. The raven-haired woman looked back, but the ranger was gone as well.

"Let's go, Eve," her best friend urged from one side.

They found the stairs up to their rooms, and started climbing. When they found theirs, Imoen stopped beside one and opened the door to look inside.

"I guess you can have this one," she told her with a feigned look of disgust for the sparse furnishings they found inside. She made a sound in her throat. Any other day and it would have brought a smile to the raven-haired woman's face.

"Well," she rocked back on her heels, "I'll be just a little ways away." She tried to sound reassuring. And her look turned sober.

"Try to get some sleep, Eve," she told the other woman worriedly. Then she hugged Evelyn quickly and turned away.

The raven-haired woman closed the door and turned the latch behind.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a small, aged mirror bolted to the wall to one side of the room while reaching forward to lean her staff against the wall, seeing how truly horrible she _did_ look. She was not disappointed. Her clothes were dirt-stained and wrinkled, the leather jerkin torn at the shoulder. Her knees still showed clear and filthy through the holes in her leggings. Her dark hair was a tangled mess around her dusky, paled face, dark brown eyes glinting with more unshed tears out from red-rimmed caverns that she had never known before in her life.

Imoen had been right.

As she unlaced the tunic, she tossed it angrily to the floor. Her boots and dagger followed swiftly soon after.

It didn't matter. Gorion was dead. Her _father _was dead.

What right did she have to care about herself?

She took his dagger and the crumpled note and shoved them into her pack before hurling it aside.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fell back against the bed, hardly caring when her head fell well short of the pillows. Painful images of her father immediately came back to mind as she lay there then, unable to sleep. His brutal death had flashed as bright and horrible in her mind every time she had closed her eyes since that terrible night, and it did not spare her then at all.

The black-mailed man had come for her, and her alone. Not Gorion. Not her father.

_And he died to keep me safe_, she thought angrily.

He didn't have to. He could have let the man take her. Escaped with his life. Maybe come for her later. She had known no other person so cunning and determined as he was. He could have tracked down the man and saved her from him before it had been too late. He could have done _something_. _Anything_.

He could have …

She had curled up into a tight ball atop the bed, weeping against the coarse covers that she dared not wrap around herself. She wanted the cold. She _wanted_ to suffer. She deserved it. Gorion was gone and it was her fault. Hers. He was gone forever because of her.

"Why?" she demanded uselessly of damp blankets as she wrung them between her hands.

"Why him?" she sobbed.

"Why not me …"

But there was no answer. Just her quiet sobbing to fill the cold, unfeeling room about her. She didn't care. She didn't care at all. She wanted to suffer. She deserved it.

She _deserved_ it …

* * *

_Knock. Knock._

Evelyn started awake. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, eyelids weighing down heavily on her face. She sucked in a deep breath.

_Knock_. _Knock_.

The back of her hand scrubbed haphazardly at her eyes. Her shoulders stiffened, hands tensing on the side of the bedframe.

"Coming," she breathed back out, too soft to hear.

_Knock … knock_.

"_Coming_," she groaned again.

She was already stumbling across the room toward the door, yawning. Her father always woke her up at the worst times. Just to _read_.

Her feet had all but carried her to the door before she could stop herself. It took her a moment to remember where she actually was, the sparse apartments startling at first as she forced her eyes open.

The knocking had become more insistent. The little window in the room showed it was still dark out. She couldn't know how long she slept. But that sound was soft, and refused to go away.

_Who could that be_?

She thought for a moment, stifling another yawn.

Imoen.

Memory started to come back to her, washing away the few hours of dreamless sleep. And she realized that Gorion was really dead. Somehow, as she trudged up to the door, she just didn't think she could ever get used to waking up in a world without him.

"What–" she started to ask, opening her mouth. But a hand snaking for her throat cut her off instead.

Her eyes flared wide in surprise, mouth flung even wider to scream. But nothing came out as those fingers clamped down hard around her neck.

She flailed wildly. The dark figure pushed into the room, and her blood turned to ice.

It was him.

He was wrapped in a dark cloak. She almost went limp, dying right there in his grip before he had the chance to kill her. His other hand reached back to close the door calmly, almost casually behind.

He forced her back, legs dragging leadenly beneath her. A table hit her back, tipping over. She almost went with it, stumbling and clutching at the hand about her throat as much to keep herself upright as to tear it free. Tears stung at her eyes, teeth bared helplessly like an animal. Her eyes were wide and terrified.

She couldn't breathe.

"Now, Evelyn, I know you're pretty good with that," Jondalar was saying as he thrust a hand toward the ashwood staff in her hands. They were both sweating freely, Evelyn more so than the stocky man, in little more than their shirtsleeves. She wore her leather tunic as well, but the other had still managed to get in many more bruises than she.

"But there's going to come a time when you won't have it, or you can't use it, or it would simply do no good."

She tried to gasp in some precious air into her lungs. And failed.

She frowned at the stocky man, but he cast his oaken staff away.

"There may very well come a time when someone gets too close, or you just won't have time to use it."

She let her own staff drop down as well at his gesture.

Her knuckles were white. She could see the veins on his hands popping out just beneath her chin. They tightened just a little more.

"You'll have to learn to use your hands and feet as well," Jondalar told her. "Now follow me and do as I do."

He dropped into some strange stance with his knees spread apart and his waist down as if he was riding in a saddle. After a moment, she did too.

Her mouth flung open. Black was creeping in at the edge of her eyes. She caught a glimpse of curling lips beneath the other's cowl. There was a sickening sound in the back of her throat.

"There are a few places you can hit a man to stop him dead in his tracks."

Jondalar started showing them to her, one by one.

"I want you to learn all of them, Evelyn. Because they might mean life instead of death someday.

"And don't worry about fighting fair." He threw her a mocking grin. "I doubt anyone picking a fight with you would looking for a fair fight."

She just scowled right back.

Her feet gave out. Or she couldn't feel them anymore.

She was floating.

_I want you to learn all of them_ …

And so she had.

One of her hands broke free from his. For the briefest moment.

Then it slammed right into his throat.

A shrill gargle erupted from within the cowl of the cloak, and those hands tore free from her neck. The dark form toppled over to its knees.

She was back on her feet then. For a few seconds.

Then she was tumbling over and down as well.

Her body flailed, but she sucked in air through her bruised neck like it was the last thing she would ever do. It wasn't, though. A moment later and she managed to throw herself haphazardly back to her feet. Bouncing a little awkwardly into the air, one of them swept up and crashed right into the man's jaw.

He flipped right over onto his back. She toppled to one side, spluttering as she caught herself on hands and knees. It was several long moments that passed then, as he lay writhing on the floor and she barely managed to keep herself up from the hardwood, hacking loudly. But then she was throwing herself aside and away, clawing her way clumsily across the floor.

The room swam as she pitched down in front of her staff. Her hands found the ashwood, though, and she climbed up until she was back on her feet.

She almost fell over again, teetering first one way and then the other. She would have screamed at herself if she could have spared the breath. If she fell over, he would have her again. And then she would die.

Eventually, she twisted back around, staff in hand. The man was standing only a few feet away, face strained. His cowl had fallen away. And she could see that face.

For a moment, she froze once more.

It was not in fear this time. Instead, it was in surprise. That man – it was not the murderous demon from that night. Instead … instead it was that same dark-haired man who had greeted them in the common room so warmly.

Now his face was twisted in fury and pain as he faced her then.

He raised a hand toward her again, but he was too far away.

"Hold still a moment, won't you?"

The room began to change.

Her eyes flashed about, but the whole place just went dark. As if every light in the world had been snuffed out all at once. He disappeared. And so did she. It was just a black void surrounding her then.

Her hands tightened on the ashwood. All at once, screams sounded everywhere, ripping at her ears as the blackness pulsed with dark life, writhing along overhead and underneath and all around. Everywhere she looked – darkness. And then she was screaming too, as she heard an all too familiar voice in her ear.

"I told you I would find you, girl."

A metal arm snaked around her from behind, elbow snapping tight against her neck. She dropped the staff, hands clutching at the plated flash. She couldn't breathe again. The demon lifted her up into the air.

She would have screamed. But she couldn't. She would have died right there. But she did not. Instead, light flared inside the black.

The man was back in front of her then. His hand had filled with light. All at once it came hissing toward her.

The world ripped away once more. Blackness snapped back into light and reality as that bolt of magic struck her full in the chest. It picked her up off the floor and flung her back.

The world was spinning, a whirlwind of color and sound and screaming light. She was vaguely aware of her skull smacking against the far wall as yet more pain exploded through her head. And then she was falling. The bed heaved around her flailing body. She didn't know where she was anymore.

The man laughed, a sweet, chilling sound that filled the room as she was tossed about. He raised his hands again though she could not see it, readying another spell to finish her. She merely lay where she had fallen, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

She waited for death.

But it did not come.

Eventually, she twisted her head around enough to look across the bed toward where the man had stood. Her lungs still pulsed awkwardly inside her chest.

Then they froze.

The door lay open. Kivan stood there in his shirtsleeves, face grim and set beyond the mage's shoulder. The man before the Elf was gagging on his own blood, the ranger's arm pulled tight across his chest. It was all that kept the man upright. For a moment.

The Elf let him go, and the dark-haired man collapsed to his knees, coughing blood up on the floor. A bloody knife was in the ranger's hand, pulled free from the mage's back. He took a moment to wipe it clean on the man's cloak even as he knelt there dying, before looking to Evelyn.

His hard features didn't say much about her current state of being. She couldn't know anyways. Nerves were still firing wildly all over her body.

She didn't have much time to worry about it either. As Kivan stood there, a hand suddenly flew up to his stomach, flaring with more magic. The Elf snapped back into the door, slamming it hard with his back before twisting violently around into the hallway behind.

The mage was climbing to his feet then. He paused halfway only to pull free a small potion from the belt at his waist. His eyes never leaving the fallen ranger, he straightened until he was standing hunched over, still coughing blood. In between those coughs, though, he upended the bottle into his throat.

The man convulsed, briefly, shaking himself with a toss of the head. Then he straightened all the way, standing as if a dagger had not just been stabbed into his back. He turned his eyes back around to her. He was no longer coughing up blood.

Her fingers clawed into the bed. She cried out, trying to throw herself over. But her limbs still wouldn't quite work.

The man watched her squirm for a moment and then sneered. He turned instead toward the Elf on the floor. Kivan had somehow managed to pull himself up onto his knees.

"Time to die, little Elf!" the man hissed.

Kivan seemed not to hear.

She managed to throw herself across the bed then. Her hands brushed the floor as she bounced, tucking her head in as she slid toward the hardwood. It rolled across her shoulders onto her stomach. The mage twisted instantly about at the sound, another ball of liquid light flying free from his hands. But she was already past him.

She realized at the last moment that her hand had closed about Fuller's dagger where it had lain on the floor, her legs feeling like jelly as she threw herself to her feet. The dark-haired man spun back around after her, but she threw herself at him before he could do anything else. They both crashed back down on top of the bed.

When they landed, her face was mere inches from his. Those dark eyes fixed with hers. But they did not move. _He_ did not move.

She jerked back as she felt the blood leaking out onto her hands.

Fuller's dagger stood out from the mage's chest. Only its hilt and guard was visible above his coat. Her eyes went wide as she realized just what she had done, and she started scrubbing her hands frantically together to wipe away the blood on them. But it only made it worse, smearing black and sticky crimson all over her palms.

The dead man slowly slid down from the edge of the bed to the floor, and she went with him, collapsing down to her knees. She could not bring her eyes to look at the dagger or what she had done with it. She could only stare at that blood on her hands.

Sometime later, she did not know when, the Elf was kneeling beside her. He studied the corpse for a moment, before grimly turning back on her.

"Dead."

His voice was cold.

She shook her head slowly, tears welling up there anew.

"You killed him," he continued, plucking free the dagger and wiping it clean on the man's clothes as he had done with his own.

She didn't look at him. She couldn't.

But the ranger suddenly pulled her eyes up with one gloved hand, fixing them with his own.

"You have never killed before," he said then, bluff face even with her own. "Have you?"

She shook her head, face threatening to break apart even as she did. Her eye retreated back to the floor, blurring over. She sobbed.

He stared at her. He might have tried to make his tone apologetic. But it was just as stiff and cold as it ever had been.

"I am sorry that this happened," he told her. "You are … so very young."

She shook her head again, not really seeing anymore. She was crying now, silently.

"It felt," she choked, not sure just what she meant. "Right …"

She heard herself speak the word. Felt her lips move to make it. But it was not what she had meant to say. That it was the truth made no difference. It had felt right. It had felt terribly right – killing that man who had very nearly killed her.

Suddenly, she was trembling uncontrollably.

The Elf had a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. She just snatched the rest of him up as tightly as she could, hugging him fiercely there on the floor. She didn't care if he had killed those two men on the road. She didn't care just how dangerous he might have been. He was the only one with her just then, and she needed someone just so badly it hurt.

He stiffened, but she was already sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder. It was nothing compared to what she felt inside. Pain, hurt, anger, sorrow, guilt – it all raged within her like a tempest, threatening to rend her apart. And beneath it all was a whisper of something else, something darker, that called to her and seemed to sing to the blood that stained her hands. The blood that she had shed from another. It called to her, coaxing her to do more. To shed more blood to ease the pain. And it would not stop. She squeezed her eyes shut and wailed inside her head, but it would not stop. Soon, it drowned out everything else, thundering in her ears.

And then it was gone.

The room grew silent as if none of it had happened at all. Only the corpse could have reminded her of what she had truly done and felt. She had stopped shaking. But she could not forget the feeling of blood on her hands and how it had felt so right there. It had made her forget Gorion. It had made her forget herself.

And _that_ …

That frightened her more than anything.


	8. Chapter 1 Promises

_**Promises**_

Several hours past dawn found Evelyn pulling back on her boots and the leather jerkin, hands already lacing the straps behind her back together. She had replaced all her clothes as well. The old ones she had just thrown away. Somehow, she did not think she could ever bring herself to wear them again, no matter how much she scrubbed. Unfortunately, not everything was so easily gotten rid of.

The corpse of the man who had attacked her was gone. As soon as the innkeeper had been told about the whole grisly affair, two bulky men were swiftly set to the task of removing it. The old Gnome had been more than a little mortified, offering profuse apologies that she only half heard as he thrust a handful of Imoen's coins back into her hands.

She had stayed with Imoen after that. The other woman's groggy-eyed yawning quickly turned to horrified gaping as she was told just what happened. Then she had all but forced Evelyn bodily into her own bed. The pink-haired woman flourished a knife in her hand that vanished somewhere up her sleeve just as quickly as it had come, telling her best friend not to worry about anything at all. Evelyn half-wondered if her friend really even knew how to use the thing, but the Elf had stayed up outside in the hall as well, close enough to her door. Whatever she had thought of him before – whatever she _still_ thought of him even so – she felt just safe enough between the two of them to rest for a few more hours.

That small little mirror still hung on the wall, untouched from the struggle last night. She was back in her own room, and she caught a glimpse of herself in it as she threw her pack over a shoulder. She stared at that woman there, freshly scrubbed clean of everything from the night before. Her mouth twisted up into a ghost of a smile.

_So that's what a murderer looks like_, she thought as she touched a few fingers gently to the glass. _She looks just like me_.

Or what she had been before. She was different now, though. She knew. There was no going back from what she had done. And maybe she didn't even want to.

Her face suddenly fell.

_I'm a monster …_

Someone knocked at the door. Her hand immediately swiped across her eyes, and she stifled a sob.

"Come in."

That voice was hoarse in her ears.

The door opened a moment later, but it was the Elven ranger – not Imoen. He closed it carefully behind him before coming to face her. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes, still not taking them from the demon who stared back at her with her own face. It reminded her of the black-plated fiend of two nights ago so suddenly, the man who had killed her father.

What made her any different from him? She wondered, frowning deeply at herself in the mirror then. But she didn't have an answer.

"The man who attacked you last night," he began, brown eyes intent upon her. He had freshly washed as well it seemed, though he had simply shrugged back into the same weathered clothes he had worn before. Somehow, she did not think he worried so much over having blood on them.

"His name was Tarnesh, and no one seemed to know what he was really here for," the Elf told her. "I made sure the Gnome went to some length to keep it that way."

Of course.

Those dark eyes seemed to glint in amusement at her.

_We can't let anyone know just what kind of a monster you really are. Can we?_

She shuddered in spite of herself.

At least Imoen had not thought so. Or said it, at least. At least she had not run screaming when she had learned of what her best friend, the one she had grown up and laughed with, who she had played senseless games and shared childish pranks with, had done. Evelyn didn't think she could bear it if the woman did. Not her best friend and the only one she still seemed to have left in that world now.

"I found this," the ranger lifted a folded piece of paper between his fingers. "In one of his pockets."

She finally let her eyes drop, not daring to contend with the reflection any longer. She stifled another sob.

"What is it?"

The man didn't answer. He just moved up beside her and pressed it into her hand.

It was just as much an effort to open the thing as it was to look at that beast in the mirror who wore her face. Still, she did.

* * *

**BOUNTY NOTICE**

_Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Evelyn, the foster child of Gorion Greymantle of Candlekeep. Last seen in the area of their home, she is to be killed in quick order. Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than two hundred gold coins. As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate._

_At the bottom of the notice there was a crudely drawn face that seemed to depict a young woman, though it had been badly blotched by blood. Still, those dark eyes and hair, that smooth, dusky face – it was hers. She did not doubt that at all. Or at least, it had been hers. She wondered how much right she had to those gentle eyes any longer._

_

* * *

_

"The man had more to gain from your head than just a young woman and a purse full of coin," the ranger said slowly as he took the piece of paper away from her numb fingers.

_My head_, came the distant thought like an echo inside her skull. Why did every want her _head_ …

She was tempted to just let them have it. _She_ almost didn't want it anymore.

But, no. Not yet. She couldn't give it up just yet.

She had a thought then. And suddenly she wished that the ashwood wasn't leaning up against the other side of the room. Kivan stood beside her, silent, as he had been for several long moments. She would never have enough time to reach it. He could have broken her with barely more than a thought, she was sure.

Her eyes darted furtively toward the dagger at his belt. She wondered if he'd need it. He was certainly a lot stronger than her.

She tensed.

"What are you going to do?" she asked finally.

She was staring hard at the wall beneath the mirror, trying not to look at him and keep him in view, both. There was no hesitation in his voice when he spoke.

"Not what you seem to think."

His words came slowly. She blinked, letting her hand fall away from Fuller's dagger at her waist after another moment. She just spat out an angry breath, dropping her head even more.

Of course he wouldn't have done that. He had nearly died trying to save her. And there was no reason to tell her anything about the bounty if he meant to take it.

"I'm sorry," she managed after a few more seconds, swallowing back tears. "You saved my life," she admitted forlornly. And she had repaid him with nothing but anger and mistrust. But it was just so hard a thing for her to do – deciding who to trust and who might be trying to kill her.

She couldn't let herself die. Not yet.

"You were the one who killed him," the ranger assured her. He didn't notice her flinch at being reminded, scrubbing her hands for hours and still feeling no cleaner. "I was careless," he admitted irritably. "I had not realized the man was a mage."

He scowled, but looked away. It was not for her.

"I would be dead now if you had not killed him," he muttered at the last.

_But it was me he wanted_.

She shook her head fiercely.

No one else was going to die for her. No one!

"Why would anyone want to kill me?"

It had not been what she had meant to say. But it was the same useless question that wailed aloud in her skull nonetheless.

"You would know better than I," the other grunted. He struggled with himself for a time, unnoticed beyond the raven-haired woman's shoulder.

"Or perhaps not."

She blinked up at him, turning around. He met her gaze after a moment more of his own black thoughts then.

"These bandits," he started, slowly, visibly piecing that thought together, "that attacked you and killed the old man. They were after you as well."

She stared at him, but said nothing. That black fiend had wanted her, not Gorion. No one else needed to know that, though.

"They must have signed the bounty into order and spread word of it to all those places you might likely flee."

His face was placid now. He might have been describing the weather, and not the end of the rest of her short life.

"Neighboring villages and towns. One step into Baldur's Gate would see a dozen knives in your back. Inns like the one here," he added with a nod of his toward where the mage had died last night.

She tried to keep herself together, but it all hit her in a wave of growing despair. Her heart fell further and further with each word and realization. She had escaped that night only to find out that it would be a death sentence for her to show her face anywhere with people. Perhaps even back home in Candlekeep, where it had always been safe.

The two men who had cornered her in the alley flashed briefly in mind, and she all but gasped. It was almost too terrible to accept.

"What am I supposed to do?" she demanded miserably, flipping a hand uselessly away. "Hide … hide in a cave for the rest of my life?"

Her face was breaking apart even as she spoke. A few tears slipped down her cheeks at the thought.

The other just stared at her. But she could almost resolve herself to it. Hiding.

_Monsters_ _hide in caves_.

Her face just screwed up even more.

"What am I going to do?"

That voice was lost, and hopeless.

"Don't give up so easily," the Elf finally growled at her.

She snapped her eyes back around on him, opening her mouth. But there was nothing to say. She clamped it back shut.

"There is obviously something important about you for these men to want you dead," he told her. "Two hundred gold coins is a lot for one helpless girl."

She glared at him. She wasn't helpless!

But she just shook her head, instead. She couldn't argue just then.

"There's nothing important about me," she told him even so, wishing that she didn't sound so broken already. "Gorion was important," she sniffed miserably. "Not me. He was a powerful wizard."

"And you are his daughter," he grunted simply.

She would have laughed, but it was beyond her.

"I'm no wizard." And they had killed him already. Taking her would have done no good. Not that they had seemed to want anything to do with him anyways.

The silence grew thick then, only her stifled sobs breaking the quiet.

"I'm not his daughter," she barely more than breathed then. It was the hardest thing she could have thought to say in that moment. But she did say it.

And it sounded even more horrible aloud.

"I was an orphan," she mumbled on almost incoherently. Tears stabbed anew at the backs of her eyes at the thought.

"He just," she sobbed, tightening her fists into little balls. "He just raised me as his own!"

And he had died because of her.

It all just seemed so … so pointless.

It just wasn't fair.

"I can read," the Elf muttered under his breath.

And that was strange enough. That whoever had meant to kill her had known she was not his true daughter should have been impossible. Gorion had told no one. He had barely even told her until she was much older. No one in Candlekeep had known, she was sure. They couldn't have.

"Yet, your death is important to them," the ranger continued on. "There will be others. Many will see the gold and a defenseless girl as easy prey far too tempting to let alone."

Her eyes shot up at him through the haze of tears, blazing.

"I am _not_ defenseless," she cried at the Elf. But he merely canted his head

"Good then."

He hardly sounded convinced.

"We should be going," he said then, abruptly. "We should find these friends of yours and then be on our way. The road will be safer."

She almost laughed. Gorion had thought so too. And now he was dead.

Then she stopped. She caught herself. And rounded on him again.

"We?" she asked, a little incredulous.

He shook his head.

"This … changes things," he told her, frowning. She only shook her head right back.

"How?"

That frown turned into a scowl. "Does it matter?" he growled, face darkening. "These bandits are still after you. You will need any help you can get."

She stared at him, a little chagrined. But only a little less doubtful. She tried to find the words she was looking for, but could not. He seemed to read her thoughts well enough for the both of them then anyways.

"I have lost," he began, all but chewing on the words, "someone very close to me as well," he managed. "When your friend found me, I had been hunting these bandits for some time already. I had thought to catch them if they were still close."

He scowled again, but not at her. He had glanced away.

"The ones who killed this Gorion," he continued, voice low, and dark, "a powerful wizard as you say." He showed just a glimpse of teeth. "They can only be with Tazok. He is their leader, and the only one capable of such a thing.

"These assassins will have to show themselves to kill you," he grated on. "And I," he stabbed a vengeful thumb into his chest, "will use them to lead me straight to that half-Ogre swine."

She eyed him, anxiously. She had not seen any half-Ogres that night, only the two _full_-Ogres. But she supposed they could have easily been sent by someone else. Maybe even the black-plated fiend who had killed her father. He hadn't seemed like one to take orders from another, though. And if he was …

Well. She could only imagine how terrible that Tazok must have been if the armored demon were only his servant.

She shuddered once more.

"Alright," she managed aloud, squeezing her eyes shut.

Then she opened them again. And looked up at him.

"I trust you, Kivan."

She hoped that she could. She didn't have much choice.

He simply nodded his head.

"You saved my life, as I saved yours. We can trust one another," he told her. Then he shouldered his bow.

"I will have my vengeance, and you will have your life."

He nodded again.

"We should be going. We have tarried long enough."

He turned away. She hesitated.

But then she caught his arm.

His eyes fell back on her, dark, and heavy. She hesitated again.

"Teach me," she managed at last. She just tried to keep her hands from shaking.

"Please."

"Teach you what?" he frowned down at her.

She schooled her face as best she could, willing herself to be as stone-faced and expressionless as he. But all she could feel was terrified deep down inside – terrified at her own thoughts.

"Teach me," she said again, more insistent and trembling both. "Teach me how to be like you."

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, as much for the words coming out of her mouth as the pain they brought back with them.

"How to live like this," she sobbed.

She shook her head, and looked up at him through pleading eyes.

"Teach me how to take my vengeance too."

He stared at her for a while as she stood there struggling with herself. His face as unreadable.

But if she was going to be a monster, then she was going to tear the man who had made her one apart. And she hardly meant the one who had already died at her feet.

Finally, the Elf spoke.

"Very well."

It was all his said. That voice was little more than a whisper.

She thought his face looked haunted for a moment. But she was sure it as just the tears blurring her eyes again then.

And, eventually … she just broke.

Those sobs overwhelmed her, wracking her chest. It heaved beneath the leather armor as tears flowed freely down the sides of her face. She knew that she could not turn back now. She would be a monster to kill all the other monsters or she would die. She would not hide for the rest of her life. It was just so simple as that.

She had snatched at the ranger again, despite that fierce demeanor. She had slipped her arms around him, squeezing herself tight into the rough leathers beneath his cloak. It was embarrassing, she thought briefly as she wept freely into his shoulder again as she had the night before. But she couldn't have stopped had she tried – and she did, only to make it even worse.

It was some start for her. _Monsters aren't supposed to cry_.

But she couldn't make herself stop.

The other stood there, as stiff as he had been last night, little more than something for her to hold onto as tightly as she could. But he would teach her. She would be like him. And that was enough.

She had always been so terrible at learning her lessons. She hoped this one, at least, was one she could learn quickly enough to use it. But, somehow, she knew it would not be.

It hardly mattered. She would learn. She would have her revenge for Gorion – her father – if it was the last thing she would do.

_That_, she promised.

* * *

A hand took Evelyn's arm as she turned away from the Gnome innkeeper, stuffing into her pack more food and filled water pouches that the bald little man with his long, silly beard had nearly forced upon her for free. He had been worried almost to tears that she would accuse him for the attack the night before and condemn his inn. She did not know where he had gotten such an idea, but it had been easy enough to refuse his generosity and pass him more coins for the supplies. It was not _his_ fault that she had ever come there.

She started in surprise as the bronzed-skinned man who had been staring at her ever since she had come downstairs now stood before her. He was strangely tentative though she was sure he knew well how to use the two swords that were strapped across his back, hilts bobbing above each shoulder. He wore a suit of splint mail over a coat the color of dark sand, both eyes and hair upon his head dark. The latter was pulled back from his face to accommodate the open-faced helm he had left at his table. A woman of similar tone as he sat there before it, fierce eyes studying her intently, a stout oaken staff beside her. Both their Elven features had not been lost on her.

"Something is f-familiar about you, child," the man was saying. "Your manner reminds me of a sage I know, b-by the name of Gorion."

"It is almost a slight on him, but I see it too," the fierce-eyed woman muttered into her cup of wine before downing some. Her hair and eyes were almost as dark as Evelyn's own, though the other woman's lifted and curled where hers merely fell straight. And she was sheathed in earth-colored thin leathers leaving a golden band around her next exposed. She finished drinking and then resumed her study of the younger woman.

"Jaheira!" the man shot the seated woman a hard look, which she shrugged off as if it were nothing. "M-mind your m-m-manners!"

Evelyn looked from one to the other, certain now of what she had only suspected strongly upon sighting the Elven pair seated in one corner of the common room. All the others to be roused so early were as human as she, more often than not half-drunk or making their way there already, despite the hour. Everyone else was either sleeping or busy about their own business for the day.

Kivan had risen swiftly from where he himself had sitten at a small table with Imoen. Her best friend close on his heels as the ranger strode toward her. All it took was one look from Evelyn to warn him that the two were who she had known they must be – that they were not a threat. She had hated not being able to confront them directly, hated not being able to trust them as soon as she had seen them. But she had to be careful – so careful – about whom she trusted for now on.

The man who had tried to kill her could have lied about them, Kivan had warned. They could have easily been yet more bounty hunters ready to kill her should Tarnesh have failed. For all they knew, the friends she was to meet could have been killed and replaced to lure her into a trap. Their mention of her foster father had all but absolved them, though, and the name the man had called the woman had finished it. Surely the bounty had not said anything of Gorion's friends being here to meet them. Surely not.

"Khalid?" she asked calmly, though she could not hide the relief that suffused her when he turned back, half-answering to the name before he realized that she somehow already knew it. Then, he smiled.

"You must be the child that Gorion wrote of so often," he concluded readily, "E-Evelyn."

She smiled for the first time in what seemed like days, certain then that she had found someone who she could trust without any further worry. Gorion would not have lied to her and she knew his judgment to never be wrong – as much as it had stung her pride on occasion. She could trust these two. She was sure of it.

Jaheira came to stand just as Kivan and Imoen had slowed to a halt next to Evelyn, Imoen beaming brightly while the ranger's face was like stone. The older woman moved to join them at Khalid's side.

The fierce-eyed woman nodded to herself as she took Evelyn in. "We recognized you from his letters," she said, her lips twitching upward in a half-smile. "It seems you have grown much from the little girl he seemed to gush so much over, but he did not lie when he mentioned what a beautiful young woman you'd become."

The other woman _did_ smile then, regarding her as how Evelyn might have imagined a distant aunt might have a never-before-seen niece. She did not know what the other could mean by calling her beautiful, though – Imoen was much more concerned about such things by far. She did not think she could possibly be half so graceful, proud, and lovely as the coppery-skinned woman before her.

"Forgive my manners," Jaheira said abruptly and turned smoothly to take in the man beside her with a hand. "I am Jaheira and this is Khalid, my husband."

Khalid extended his hand toward her, still with that strangely apprehensive manner as if he worried he might offend someone by mistake. "G-good to know you," he stammered as Evelyn took his hand. He squeezed hers gently before retrieving his.

Imoen was grinning broadly at the two. "Heya! You must be Gorion's friends, huh?"

Jaheira took in the pink-haired woman then, noticing the silent Elf beside her for the first time before returning her focus to Evelyn. "Yes. We are old friends of your adopted father. Where is he? He is not with you?" She had a peculiar accent, Evelyn had begun to notice, and so did her husband, one she had never heard before.

The other woman glanced around quickly once more to the others, scanning the common room briefly as well. "He would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment," she added, almost to herself as she forgot them for a moment.

For a moment, that night was back before her, summoned by the other woman's words. Tears sprung into Evelyn's eyes. She knew it was still too fresh. Too soon.

The wound cut deep, but it had to heal. With time. Whatever the scars.

Somehow, though, she was afraid this never would.

… _Not until that armored man lies dead at my feet._

The last had come as an afterthought. But it hardened her. Still, she had to stifle a sob and steady her own voice before she could say it.

"He's dead."

"What?"

Jaheira's eyes snapped back on her, their weight suddenly threatening to crush her where she stood. Gone were her warm smiles. Now she was as hard as iron and twice as cold.

"Do not even jest upon such a matter as that, child."

"She's not!" Imoen pushed forward before Evelyn could speak. "I … I saw it too."

Some of that excited light had faded from her eyes, and she sobered.

"W-what do you mean? What did you s-see?" Khalid did not seem to believe her either.

Evelyn opened her mouth again. Her tongue was thick in it as she tried to form the words. It was some perverse irony to have to prove that night was true when she wished it were not with all of her being. But the ranger saved her.

"They were attacked during the night," Kivan broke in, his somber tone swiftly silencing the pink-haired woman as well. "The girl claimed they were bandits."

But Jaheira merely shook her head. "Gorion would know well enough how to deal with simple bandits."

Khalid nodded at her side.

"I examined the area thoroughly," the ranger growled back at them both. Irritation and impatience. "Four arrived – two Ogres, a woman, and a man, both in heavy armor. Only two left – the woman, and the man."

"Gorion could handle Ogres just as easily as bandits," the bronze-skinned woman told him even so. The Elf's face only grew darker.

"He killed them," Evelyn butted back in before Kivan could. The Elf eyed her instead for a moment, but she couldn't drag her own up from the floor for long.

"I found only the bodies of the two Ogres and an old man," Kivan merely grunted after she was done. "She claimed he was her father."

Jaheira suddenly had her by the arms at that, dark eyes piercing.

"Are you certain, child?" she demanded. "Was it Gorion?"

Evelyn met the other woman's gaze, a brief flash of searing heat through the tears.

"I know my own father," she all but cried.

The other woman did not relent, however, hands beginning to dig painfully into her arms.

"Tell me, child. Tell me everything."

She didn't want to. It was horrible enough just thinking about it. But she did.

She tried to keep her face and tone smooth while those terrible memories were relived upon her tongue. Tried to keep herself from breaking down once more in front of everyone. It was a luxury she couldn't afford anymore. Not if she was to do what she must.

When she finally finished, it was only just short of dissolving into a fit, sobbing. She fought it. She swallowed it down as best she could.

Jaheira hugged her close when she was done, patting her back comfortingly as she pulled tight.

"He was an old and wise man who had led a full life," the other woman whispered soothingly into her ear. "That he lived long enough to see you grown would have been all he could have hoped for, I am certain. Were he given the opportunity, I have no doubt he would have given his life again for you."

"We share your loss," Khalid added with a hand on her shoulder. His voice sounded as pained as his wife's had. They were both being strong – for her. It was not something she could hope for much longer.

Eventually, the other woman pulled away, her dark eyes shining with a few unshed tears of her own. "So he has fallen." She shared a grim look with Khalid. "I had almost not thought it possible. Dire news …"

"Yes," the other echoed solemnly. Jaheira nodded.

"Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own," she said to Evelyn then, firming her voice forcibly to keep the pain she could see in her eyes from it. "He also wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians, if he should ever meet an untimely end." She gave Khalid another look, unreadable this time. "However, you are much older now, and the choice should be your own."

"We could t-travel with you until you get settled," Khalid offered suddenly. "Help you find your l-lot in life." Jaheira merely pursed her lips at him, and he shrugged.

"It would be a fitting last service to Gorion," she said slowly, "though we must first go to Nashkel. Khalid and I … look into local concerns, and there are rumors of strange things happening at the mine. No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage?" She arched an eyebrow. "It has affected everyone in this region. We are to meet the mayor of the town, Berrun Ghastkill."

Evelyn remembered another two who had said something very much like that before, before Kivan had swiftly put them down. She cast the Elf a sudden look as if he might again. He only scowled at her.

"I don't know what else to do," she said, regretting the despairing tone immediately. "Gorion only told me to find you …"

Jaheira rested a hand upon her shoulder, steadying her warmly.

"You are certainly welcome among us, child," she assured her. "We will keep you as safe from harm as best we are able – for the memory of a great and wonderful man … and for you."

"It will be much harder than you think, now," Kivan grunted, almost to himself. But he met their gaze when the two looked to him sharply.

"These bandits put a bounty on her head for escaping. And it is no small amount of gold for reward."

"A _bounty_?" Jaheira voiced incredulously, nearly shouting in surprise. The ranger's eyes widened in anger, his hands half-raised to throttle the woman.

But she coughed and forced her words to quiet.

"A bounty?" she demanded harshly.

Evelyn drew the cowl of her cloak up and around her, hiding her face with none too few worried glances spared for the common room about. A man laughed loudly, slapping his thigh with a fist to the table, and she nearly jumped. But no one looked at the five standing in the corner twice.

"She was attacked last night," Kivan almost growled with a glance about as well. "A mage looking to collect on it."

The other two looked startled. But then Jaheira's eyes hardened, her voice cool.

"And just who are you?"

"Watch your tone with me, half-breed," he grunted back instantly. "I am not to be cowed by your voice or your eyes as that one has," he glanced toward Khalid, who looked immediately to Jaheira. She kept her fierce gaze settled heavily upon the ranger.

"As you would have it," the coppery-skinned woman said slowly after a moment.

"Half-breed?" Imoen asked curiously. From the way the others looked at her suddenly it seemed as if they had forgotten that she was there.

"Yes," Jaheira answered carefully. "You must be Imoen. Gorion spoke of you often as well in his letters. It is nice to see that he was so very … accurate … in his descriptions."

Imoen flashed her a radiant smile in reply.

"They are half-Elven," Kivan explained. His eyes narrowed just a little. "And they are also half-Human."

"Oh." Imoen pondered the matter for a moment. "I really can't see the difference." She shrugged. "Are you half-Elven too?"

"No," he responded quickly. "I am pure-blooded."

"Pure-blooded," Jaheira murmured. "An interesting way of putting it."

"We have wasted enough time," the ranger interrupted her irritably, pushing it aside. "We should have been long gone from this place already." Jaheira nodded slowly after a moment.

"Yes, it is best that we depart immediately," she agreed. "Especially if Evelyn is in danger. " She looked to Imoen then, and the pink-haired woman stiffened with sudden resolve.

"I'm coming too," she declared firmly. She looked almost as if she dared one of them to challenge her on it. "I won't let anyone hurt Eve."

"Very well, then," Jaheira voiced softly. "Let us be off. The Elf is right. We have wasted too much time already."

Evelyn looked to each of them carefully, her throat tight. _They won't die for me_, she vowed fiercely, _no matter what they say_. She would run away from all of them if she had to – if it came to that. But she still had to learn. She needed to know how to take revenge for herself and Gorion. _I won't let it happen again_.

She realized that they were waiting for her and, reluctantly, she nodded. She knew little of Nashkel. She knew too little of what lay outside of her home in Candlekeep. But there was nothing else for her to do just then. When the time came, she would know how to destroy her hunters – just as they had destroyed her. Until then, she would follow where they led her. For now.


	9. Chapter 1 The Road South

**_The Road South_**

It was well into the afternoon before they reached the crossroads where Kivan had turned them north toward the Friendly Arm Inn. Jaheira pressed on south instead, Nashkel a few days past the town of Beregost toward the foot of the Cloud Peak Mountains. From what Evelyn could glean from the older woman and her husband, coupled with some rumors she vaguely remembered having heard back in Candlekeep, most of the iron in the Nashkel mines now seldom made it out. And what little the miners did manage to produce crumbled to nothing more often than not before it could be put to any use. The whole region around Baldur's Gate was dependent on those mines and their shipments, so the others said, and they were hardly the only ones interested in the affair. But it seemed so distant from Evelyn. She could barely bring herself to care beyond her own troubling thoughts and nightmares.

There were few enough people on the road. Not that there had been many that she had seen on their way toward the Friendly Arm Inn. Kivan said it had to do with the constant bandit attacks. And when they did see other travelers, they rode in wagons or carriages surrounded by rings of hard-faced and hard-armed guards. Those men gave the five of them plenty of warning glances, hands brushing sword hilts and cudgels, and received much the same in response. At least from the two half-Elves and Kivan. But even Evelyn found herself clutching the ashwood staff tighter whenever dust began to rise on the horizon. Not Imoen, though. To her it was still all some grand adventure, and she varied between cornering the others with endless questions about everything that was happening in the outside world and positively beaming as it passed ever around and about them along the road.

Once, Evelyn had nearly been run down by a messenger astride a swift horse, the man trying to break the animal's legs and his own neck both at the same time in his haste to get along further south. The man had borne the dark livery of one of the Grand Dukes, or so Jaheira said – grumbled, really – and he shouted something back that sounded vaguely apologetic without slowing. Despite the dusky-skinned woman's anger at the apparent 'lack of manners among Baldur's Gate's militiamen', it could not dull her surprise when they found the man several hours later, lying face down on the road and riddled with arrows. Bandits, Kivan observed indifferently. Not long gone.

Evelyn had protested about burying the body. But Jaheira had been nearly forced to strike her to make her see 'sense' so that they could continue. Before the same thing happened to them.

Night was already coming on as the first sight of slate-roofed houses came into view, the town of Beregost casting long shadows on the countryside about. Cedar and maple began to peel away.

And there the town was.

A few manors passed away to either side on the outskirts – grand estates with verandas and sculpted statues and doors and courtyards and terraces. Beautiful in the deepening dusk. Nothing like Candlekeep. Nothing at all. And then they were to the cobblestoned streets and squat buildings of the town. That was a little more familiar. But open. Dingy. A like dark and murky in the oncoming night. It reminded her of what the Elf had told her back at the Friendly Arm. The others hardly seemed to care overly much for it either. Except for Imoen.

"_City_," Jaheira muttered to herself, nearly spitting the word. Her eyes darted about disapprovingly toward those shabby little wooden buildings. "A blight upon the landscape," she grumbled at Khalid at her elbow. "Better to have just let the land grow wild."

Her husband shook his head, but said nothing.

Kivan had tensed. Even more so than she had thought possible. Even with the bandit threat upon the open road, he seemed more comfortable there with his darting, animal-like eyes and wary, furtive glances to every dark corner and back alleyway. It was a little disconcerting.

She knew nothing of anything beyond Candlekeep. But trouble seemed to always follow where so many people grouped together. Evelyn shivered a little. She did not think it was from the cooling night air.

Jaheira and Khalid seemed to know where they were going. They pushed into the dirty streets of the town, marching toward its center. A few people were still scattered about. They paid the five little mind, drunk more often than not. A raised voice here or there echoed in the night. A cat mewling. A dog barking. Far off laughter. It all had a little more edge than anything she had heard outside her room in Candlekeep at night. And she suddenly felt even more alone than she had before. She pulled her cloak tight around her. Imoen pressed in at her side.

"Just let me do all the talking," her best friend whispered conspiratorially to her. Those green eyes narrowed toward the darkening streets and buildings about. "A hayseed like you in a big city like this?" She shook her head. "Oooh, pretty scary!"

Evelyn choked on an abrupt laugh. It died, though. The pink-haired woman flashed her a wicked grin, and she smiled half-heartedly back. It was hard.

They finally stopped at one of those buildings. A few wooden planks stuck out over a creaking door in its side. She could barely make out what they had splattered in red across them. Jaheira said something about an inn to her husband. The Red Sheaf. Dim lantern light could be seen through its windows. And the sounds that drifted out seemed happy enough.

Jaheira had mounted the rotting steps out front without a moment's pause, striding purposely toward the door with Khalid at her heels. When she pulled it back, however, the laughter from within took on a different tone.

Evelyn hesitated there at the threshold. Then Imoen was prodding her in the back, though some of the other woman's enthusiasm had died as well from the look on her face. They both followed after the others. Kivan fell in behind without a word.

An anteroom tunneled them toward the inn's common room, garbage tossed haphazardly all around. Her unease grew at the curses and laughter and various pounding noises – she assumed they were cups being slammed down – all interwoven in a loud mesh that hurt her ears. A startled shriek made her jump. And then a serving girl scampered by to loud guffaws of laughter. Evelyn's throat clenched at the sight. She had to swallow as they pushed along inside.

Then the common room was opening about them, a dimly lit and cramped place all in plain wood and barely an effort taken to make it presentable. Rounded tables were tossed about as if none of the patrons cared a whit for how they were seated, or as if some bar fight had just broken out within the past few minutes and no effort had been made to reorganize the room. Almost every man in the room was drunk – a hard-faced and scorned lot that made Hull look soft-hearted – and seldom was more than one seated together. And those few clusters of men who were were the hardest of the bunch.

Aside from the one barmaid, no others were in sight, and the men in the room seemed to quiet some, noticing of a sudden the newcomers. Or rather noticing _three_ of the newcomers. To Khalid and Kivan they paid no attention at all. Their eyes instead took in the three women, appraising looks that seemed to weigh and measure each. For what, Evelyn did not know, but, as they continued in semi-silence, she felt that she would much rather _not_ know. She pulled her cloak more tightly about her, and someone laughed quietly.

Not like the Friendly Arm Inn at all, she thought regretfully, and a little ironically. She shook her head, avoiding those stares with their half-guarded smiles. From the look of them, they were almost all armed and wearing some sort of leather or mail. She shivered despite the room's heat.

One gaze caught hers briefly, though. A stocky little man with a fierce eye and bushy, black beard over splint mail studied her with a somewhat different curiosity than that of the others. She tore her eyes away from him quickly, but not before he thumped his flagon down on his table. And he stood.

Imoen pursed her lips as she looked around, but seemed to care for the men's stares no more than she did. Only Jaheira paid them no mind, striding purposefully toward the innkeeper's large desk. Evelyn did not see how the older woman could be so calm about it.

The innkeeper himself, a pudgy, balding man, had stormed his way through a backdoor to what looked like the kitchens and Evelyn caught a glimpse of him stalking up to the same barmaid of before, tears staining her cheeks, before the door swung shut. She could hear him begin to shout at the poor girl to be back about her business and serving the customers, and his voice only grew angrier as the men around the common room began pounding their cups in unison, crying out for more ale. Evelyn jumped again at that sudden uproar, but the patrons merely laughed and shouted all the louder.

"Jaheira," she was suddenly tugging at the other woman's arm, nearly yelling to be heard above all that noise. "We can find another inn, can't we?"

But the other woman merely struck her with a hard eye.

"Settle down, child. Places such as this need only be handled properly."

"But–"

"_Enough_, child." Jaheira thrust a hand up to silence her. "Unless you have some _gold_ stuffed away down that tunic, we will be staying here for the night. We cannot all afford to live in luxury."

She stepped back as the other woman turned away, settling herself impatiently before the innkeeper's desk. The fat man could still be heard shouting above the clamor.

Evelyn began to drift back from the others toward the anteroom door, fingering the few gold and silver coins she had left in her pocket. She wondered if they could be enough to buy her a room at one of those other inns. Surely they must be better than this one. But what if Jaheira was right? What if they could barely afford this place as it was? She had only ever earned coppers for her extra chores in Candlekeep – cleaning out the stables or turning down every last bed for Winthrop or oiling and cleaning all of the Watchers' old weapons. Those few gold coins Gorion had given her that last day in the only home she had ever known had been more wealth than she had ever hoped to see in her life. There would be no more. She was alone now. She had to be careful with what little she had left.

Imoen forced a comforting smile for her as she edged her way past, but Evelyn could see easily the unease buried beneath those usually bright green eyes. The pink-haired woman had seldom been able to keep the truth from her best friend, no matter how hard she might have tried. At least she was not alone in that.

Kivan caught her arm in an iron-grip before she could go much further, drawing her up swiftly.

"Do not stray," he admonished softly without looking at her. His eyes continued their furtive sweep of the common room. "They will not hurt you so long as you stay close. The half-breed swordsman and I will make sure of that."

As if on cue, Khalid reached back to finger the hilt of one of those long, curved swords crisscrossing beneath his cloak.

"I can take care of myself," she said, throwing him an irritated look. He barely even noticed.

"Good. Keep that bearing well then," the other told her. "It will keep hounds at bay far better than the fear you are radiating now. She has the right of it." He nodded his head briefly toward Jaheira, who still stood poised as if nothing in that room could possibly daunt her.

The barmaid suddenly returned, pushing her way through the door back out from the kitchens, her eyes red and fixed firmly upon the floor. The men all began laughing anew with jeering remarks as she started serving them their drinks once more. Evelyn swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut against some of those remarks.

"I'm not afraid," she breathed heatedly, forcing their words from her mind. She clutched the staff all the more tightly in her hands.

"Good." The Elf canted his head again simply, still not looking at her. He let go of her arm. "Try not to scream."

Abruptly he was spinning about, throwing her roughly aside as a dagger flashed within his hand. She could not heed his words though. As she struck an empty table and upended it, she screamed in surprise.

The small, stocky man of earlier stood behind the browned Elf, a wicked looking axe with a half-moon blade held within his hands. His eyes followed her instantly as she fell away. But then they snapped back toward the Elf. He whirled about, sweeping toward the bearded man's head with the hilt of the dagger. Evelyn could only watch as the other ducked easily beneath the blow, and sprang upward with his broad head in the next moment. Kivan grunted as it caught him squarely beneath the ribs, doubled over, and tumbled aside.

The stocky little man – a Dwarf, she suddenly realized – rounded immediately then upon her, and she clawed back against the rough surface of the fallen table, scrabbling desperately for her feet. She fell flat on her side.

"You're at the end of your rope I'll wager," the little man growled at her – stone scraping on gravel. "Not that it's anything personal, you understand, but I'm afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done."

She felt her throat clench as the burly Dwarf started toward her, stepping over the fallen Elf as if he were nothing. But then a knife bloomed in his chest, drawing him up short. He turned, and those stone-hard eyes pinned Imoen instead.

The pink-haired woman stood there, breathing raggedly as her eyes darted from first Kivan upon the ground to the Dwarf and then Evelyn and back to the Dwarf again. The little man plucked the knife free from his mail and another immediately replaced it in Imoen's hand. As the first came hurtling back toward her from the Dwarf's gauntleted hand, though, she only had time to cry out sharply and leap to one side before it hissed past. It stuck, quivering, in the innkeeper's desk just behind where she had been.

Khalid and Jaheira were already moving. The one drew free both swords from across his back, the other hefting the stout wooden staff within her hands.

The stocky little man growled beneath his beard, and leapt at them instead. The was no surprise or fear in either. Just a sudden brick wall of grim, deadly determination.

They moved fluidly. Like a dance. Swords and staff, sweep and thrust, flank to flank. It was almost mesmerizing to watch. First the one took the burly Dwarf's axe and parried it aside while the other came at him from the side or rear. Evelyn almost forgot herself there on the floor. But it all lasted only seconds before the little man had driven them back once more. The Dwarf just managed to keep clubbing blows and slashing sweeps away with thick armor and axe. He shrugged each off and pushed them back with roaring cries.

A table flew into the air between them, catching Khalid and Jaheira both as they went down in a tangle. The two hefty men who had occupied that very table rising angrily from their drinks as they splashed across the floor. A downed lantern struck the whole mess. And then flames were suddenly spreading everywhere.

Evelyn had her feet, and the staff was in her hands. Screaming sounded all over. Then the stocky little man's dark eyes were fixed back upon her, and she froze.

The Dwarf stalked toward her, half-moon axe still held firmly within his bulky hands. Blood streamed down one side of his face, but his gaze did not waver. Imoen had vanished. Kivan was clawing at the ground. She was alone.

Those stone-cold eyes brightened just a little as he raised the axe, stopping only a step or two away. Fires and screams burned bright behind him.

"What do you want with me?" she cried at him desperately, eyes scrabbling frantically about. "What did I do to any of you?"

"Ye've done nothing, far as I know. Don't matter one whit to me." He squared his heavy shoulders, rippling with muscle and sinew beneath his stout coat and armor. "A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two meet, there's old Karlat makin' his living." He hefted the half-moon blade easily. "Like I said, it's nothin' personal."

The cowl had fallen down from her face, and she could feel the familiar pain of hands at her throat. "My head," she breathed, and the Dwarf seemed to grin – a vicious, terrible twist of his cracked lips. Another moment, and hers only twisted into a snarl.

His axe flashed toward her neck so quickly that she almost didn't see it. Somehow, the ashwood was just as swift in her hands. Or just enough. She forced that terrible half-moon blade aside. Then again. And again. And again.

The Dwarf's face was bleeding in more place than one now. Red leaked out from where her staff had cracked it, though she could not remember having done so. His eyes were half-glazed with rage and madness, and blood had already begun to seep into them. Still, he just kept coming.

The fires had died to nothing in her eyes, and the screams to less in her ears as their struggle went on. She did not see him as Jondalar. She did not even see him as the man who had tried to kill her in the Friendly Arm Inn. All she saw before her was the armored fiend who had slain her father. All she could see was a blade blacker than the night itself skewering the old man upon it. She turned it aside every time.

And then Gorion's face flashed before her. It was so sudden and so terrible that she froze. One moment it had been the black-plated man who she had fought for her life against. The next, it was her very own father. She stopped so suddenly that she almost did not see the axe sweeping down for her skull.

The ashwood staff came up, but it wasn't fast enough. No wood could stand against that metal as it came crashing down. It was terrible. It was a tree waiting for the woodman's axe. It was the mast waiting for the lightning bolt in a storm. It was _her_ waiting for the headsman.

And all she could do … was watch as it happened.

She closed her eyes.

Light flared abruptly and forced her back.

It swallowed … everything.

It didn't last long, however.

When she opened her eyes again, she was sprawled haphazardly across the floor some paces away. The staff lay beside her on the ground.

"Eve!"

Someone was calling her name. A familiar pink-framed face was before her, eyes drawn tight and worried.

"Eve! Are you okay?"

Rough hands hauled her back to her feet. She was vaguely aware of Kivan once again there beside her and well. Imoen held her gently from the other side. But all she could see at that moment, was the bruised and battered little corpse that lay before her, a shard of metal piercing his skull. It looked suspiciously like the end of a half-moon blade.

Jaheira was gliding forward toward them, stepping easily over the Dwarf's corpse. "We are leaving," she told them firmly. "Now."

Then her eyes fell upon the ashwood staff.

"I had not thought ash trees so strong as that. It shattered his axe like glass."

Evelyn's eyes had not moved from the lifeless little man at her feet. _Not_ _again. _She did not feel anger, or hate … just numb. She felt numb all over.

It was easier the second time.

The ranger crouched down beside the body, sifting a swift hand through its coat pockets. Then he pulled something free, glancing it over quickly in the dim light. He looked up at the raven-haired woman.

"Word of your survival travels quickly," he muttered, glancing away. He tucked the parchment inside his coat. "The price upon your head has risen to three hundred and fifty gold coins."

Jaheira snatched up the ashwood staff and stuffed it into Evelyn's hands. Her fierce eyes swept back about the common room. And she scowled.

"What did I say?" she snapped, taking a hold of Evelyn and forcing her about. "_Move. Now._"

The younger woman realized abruptly then that the flames and the shouts had died down. She could not remember them having done so. But men scrambled everywhere, pouring more and more water where wood was now blackened and charred and sodden. They were not the patrons of earlier – all of those had fled. The kitchen staff and the innkeeper scurried about instead, that one's bald head repeatedly being mopped with a dirty handkerchief. She paid it no notice.

They were back out the door into the night before the coppery-skinned woman finally released her, and she came to a sudden stop as soon as no one was pushing her along anymore. Jaheira and Khalid continued on, stalking down the dark cobblestone roads of Beregost, unheeding.

"A small loss," Kivan grunted at her elbow before moving forward as well. She did not hear him.

Imoen finally took her by the arm, dragging her onward and whispering something chiding in her ear. But it was half-hearted, she knew. She did not hear her either.

She could not see the street as they trudged onward down it – she could not see anything. All she could see was the corpse of that vicious little man, the corpse of the second man that she had killed. For a moment, as she saw it in her mind's eye, that corpse was not the stocky little Dwarf's. For a moment, that corpse was Gorion's. And for one, tiny, terrible moment …

… She felt her whole world collapse once more.

She did not know what that meant.


	10. Chapter 1 From Beregost

_**From Beregost**_

Evelyn started awake with a scream.

She tore free from the cloak that had been draped across her. Hands darted to her throat. But they were her own. Not her murderer's. And her neck was still there. In one piece. She didn't wake to find herself headless or the black-plated demon standing over her lifeless corpse. Still, she merely jumped again when Imoen's hand grabbed her shoulder

"It's okay, Eve! We're safe," the other woman assured her quietly.

It took a moment more before Evelyn could finally ease herself back down, sinking into the soft embrace of the plush velvet divan that she had fallen asleep on. Then she took a deep breath, wiping away the cold sweat from her forehead. The small marble bath beside her would certainly help with the way her now damp and clinging clothes made her feel. She was not so sure it could clean away other things so easily, though.

The room they had finally taken, a lavish suite within the Feldepost Inn, was luxurious – if expensive. After a fierce debate about whether or not to simply march on through the night past Beregost, Jaheira had finally resolved them to finding another inn – safely away from the events that had occurred within the Red Sheaf. They needed a good night's rest, and the dangers presented by bandits on the open roads were far greater than any other trying to collect on Evelyn's bounty. That the whole affair had been so undoubtedly distorted and confused by the flames at the last boded well. And the bounty hunter was dead.

The room had been expensive, though, and they could only afford to rent one. Evelyn had been quick to offer up several gold coins when Jaheira and Khalid had begun counting out coppers. They had been surprised, but relieved. Imoen had just been surprised.

None of them were there now, though. Except Imoen. And Evelyn was so incredibly thankful that her friend had not left her alone.

She reached back out and took Imoen's hand, squeezing it tight. The pink-haired woman moved around and sat herself down at the end of the couch.

"You should eat something, Eve. Jaheira said we'd be leaving soon. Right after they got a few things."

But she shook her head, leaning into her hands. "I'm not hungry."

"Eve." The other woman gave her a reproving look, something that seemed almost ridiculous upon her girlish features. Evelyn returned the look squarely. But her friend did not relent.

She growled irritably into her throat after a moment, scraping dirty fingers back along her scalp. Then she was on her feet, pushing toward the other side of the room and the door. "What about you?" she turned around at the last.

"W-what? Me?" Imoen stammered. She stood abruptly, thrusting her hands behind her back. "Oh I'll just stay here and … and, um … pack! Yep, pack. I have things that need … packing."

"Packing?" Evelyn repeated with a dubious look, crossing her arms. Imoen's radiant grin only grew wider and less convincing as the moments dragged on.

The dark-haired woman stalked up to the other. Stopped. And snatched her coin purse from behind the roguish woman's back.

"_Hey_ …!"

Imoen made a futile grab after her. But Evelyn was already trudging back toward the door, shaking her head.

The Feldepost Inn was bustling when they had stolen in last night. Even as nice a place as that, it was mostly half-drunken men. Now the room was quiet, the few there only eating their breakfast in peace. But she couldn't take any chances. She had to remind herself of that as she stepped down into the common room. She pulled up her hood.

Khalid and Jaheira were nowhere to be seen when Evelyn glanced around the room, only a few candles burning with the early morning light. She did spot the Elven ranger, though, all by himself in a darker corner. He was working away at a small tankard. His hard eyes darted furtively about the room almost without ceasin. Until they caught sight of her. Then he looked away, muttering something into his cup before hastily drinking. She hesitated only a moment before moving over to take the chair across from him.

"Where are the others?" she asked him finally when he did not speak for some time.

"The girl, I am sure you know where she is," he grunted, draining the last of his cup. "The two half-breeds said something about gathering supplies before leaving more than an hour ago."

Her face twisted into a frown. He hardly noticed. Or cared.

"You shouldn't call them that. It sounds … disrespectful," she decided.

"Maybe that is because it is."

He pushed his tankard away.

"Eat something now," he told her. "The faster we move on the road, the safer you will be."

But she took one look at the innkeeper, a fat man with a sparse beard on the other side of the room, and shook her head. More people had begun to wander in from outside to share a drink or a meal, and many had begun waking and filing in downstairs. It made her more than a little anxious.

"There are too many people," she whispered with a wary glance. She pulled the cowl even farther down, blocking the side of her face with a hand. "It's better if I just stay here until we leave." Or maybe upstairs would have been better.

The ranger only growled in his throat. And before she could say anything more, he had pushed briskly away from the table toward the innkeeper and the kitchens, leaving her alone. She stared after him for a moment, but caught herself. She hid her face again quickly enough.

She turned back to stare at her hands for a while, waiting. And almost forgetting about the blood that they had already shed.

Two days.

Her father had been dead for only two days, and already she had learned to murder just as he had been. And those hands had not been content with just one corpse. But two. She silently pleaded that it might stop there. That sudden, nauseating rush of blood to her head somehow told her not, though.

It was a …

_Terrible_ … feeling.

"'Ere now!"

Something shattered on the opposite side of the room. Her head whipped instantly around.

"Get out! I don't like your type in here!"

A tall bear of a man was scowling and yelling, his heavy gaze boring into some other and making a scene. Evelyn glanced quickly away again, though, remembering all too well the night before. She was just happy that it had nothing to do with her.

"Heh," another voice chimed in loudly, barking a laugh, "you tell 'em Marl."

Gorion wouldn't have recognized her now. Her _father_ couldn't have recognized her now. If she hadn't gotten him killed already.

Two days and she was as much a murderer as the black-plated fiend. She felt dirty. She felt cold and unclean. She could almost _feel_ the blood still soaking her hands. She remembered last night and the Dwarf. Gorion's face …

No. No he wouldn't recognize her at all.

"Hey! I told you to get lost!"

She blinked up again, a little peeved now that someone was being so rude. When she saw the large, burly man, Marl, in his dirty shirtsleeves swipe a hand at the figure he was yelling at, and throw back its cowl to reveal Kivan's pointed ears, though, she stood.

"Ain't no room here for ye trouble makin' strangers, Elf!"

"Keep your hands off me, Human," the ranger snarled back, rounding again on the innkeeper. The fat old man merely glanced from one to the other, brow twitching.

"Oh I'll keep my hands off ye, freak!"

A massive maul snatched at Kivan's throat. But the ranger moved with blinding speed, grabbing the man's arm and twisting about until his face was buried in the countertop. The innkeeper scurried away quickly into the kitchen.

"I told you to keep your hands off me!" the ranger hissed into the other's ear, baring his teeth. But then the bear of a man roared, shaking off the Elf, and swung one giant fist wide. It just missed the ranger's chin, taking him full in the chest instead, and sent him hurtling backward and into a low banister that separated one end of the room from the other. Evelyn was already bouncing on her feet.

"_Hey_!" she stalked up to the large man, fists clenched at her sides. "Get away from him! He didn't–"

And the back of that man's hand struck her smartly across the face. It sent her tumbling to the floor as well.

"Stay outta this, girl."

He ignored her, starting towards the ranger instead as he struggled to stand. One hand clutched at his chest as he choked on air and spat into the floor. Evelyn coughed out some blood into the wood, more seeping out from a cut inside her cheek. She stared at it, deathly still, stunned, and cold as ice.

Her lips twitched into a snarl, and she leapt back to her feet.

The Elf glanced up as the other closed, still coughing. But, before Kivan could recover, the burly man had both hands wrapped around the Elf, hefting him up into the air. With another roar, Marl flung him away, over the banister and across the room. He landed on a table, bounding over it and into the floor. Empty tankards clattered down all around him.

People began yelling and cursing as their meals were disturbed, rising to their feet as some shook fists. Evelyn couldn't be sure if they were angry or cheering, her head was still spinning, but she didn't care. She charged that bear of a man with a howling cry.

But two muscular arms wrapped around her suddenly from behind, pulling her back.

"Best listen to him, girl," a voice growled in her ears, "and let 'em have their sport."

Marl leapt over the banister after the Elf, glaring down at the fallen man where he writhed and gasped upon the floor. "I'm sick of you freakish adventurers going out, consorting with gods know what, and dragging your trouble back into my home town!"

Evelyn pounded the heel of one foot down hard on the boot of the man who held her, elbowed him just below the ribs, and then bent double, pulling him over her shoulder. In another instant he was lying on the floor, groaning. She leapt over him without a second thought.

The burly man now bent down over the Elf once more. He took Kivan by his coat, hoisting him up.

"You mess up the local economy with your stolen gold, you upset the balance of nature, you flash your magic around, and because of it maybe somebody's son thinks it's fun and goes out and gets himself killed!" He shook the ranger's limp form violently until his head snapped back. "It's a bad example and somebody ought to kick your arse for it!"

Those massive hands slid up to wrap around Kivan's neck and the ranger's mouth and eyes flung wide. His own hands clawed at Marl's.

"Let him go!" Evelyn hissed from behind them, and the bear twisted his grizzled face around toward her.

"I told you to stay outta this," he rumbled at her. Then he thrust the Elf backward from his grasp.

"Get on home, girl!" he stabbed a finger toward the door, "or I'll–"

She struck his hand aside with hers and then her boot slammed his face at the chin.

He blinked in surprise. She held her ground.

Then he took a step toward her. Stumbled. And blinked again. Confused.

Another step, and he just toppled over.

She turned away and found the ranger. He had picked himself back up, a bright line of blood running down the side of his face. He looked to the man on the floor, then her. And then he narrowed his eyes.

"Hssst!"

Evelyn spun around in surprise, only to catch sight of Jaheira and Khalid standing at the inn doors. She opened her mouth to speak. But the older woman cut her off.

"Get outside! Quickly, girl!" she snapped. "And pull your hood up!"

But she merely stood there in shocked silence, glancing first at the two men she had laid flat and then at the common room about. Tables and chairs lay scattered, some broken, and nearly all of the patrons stood away from where the fight had taken place, staring. It took her a moment to realize that most of them were staring at _her_.

She had no time to feel anxious, though, as Kivan took her arm roughly in hand when she refused to move, pulling her along toward the door. "We have overstayed our welcome," he growled irritably.

She just nodded and hid her face.

* * *

"That man attacked us!" Evelyn was calling angrily after the bronze-skinned woman as they marched quickly along the Beregost streets and away from the Feldepost Inn. Slate-roofed houses passed to either side, rock-strewn gravel crunching underfoot. Somewhere toward the center of town a crier shouted out the latest news from Baldur's Gate.

"Why'd he attack you?" Imoen asked, shouldering her pack and tossing Evelyn her own. She slipped both her arms through its straps without missing a step.

"He was not after her," the ranger muttered. Imoen looked to him for more of an answer, but only got that dour, dismissive look.

"Be that as it may," the older woman continued, "we can hardly afford any _more_ attention being drawn to us, especially given her predicament. Fortunately, Khalid and I are finished gathering supplies and it is about time to be leaving anyways."

"I was only defending myself," she muttered under her breath. The half-Elven woman caught it anyways.

Jaheira raised her chin imperiously. "Whoever taught you how to do that should have had his ears boxed."

And Evelyn snatched the other woman's arm, pulling her right back around to face her. "What was I supposed to do? Just let them kill him?" she thrust an arm angrily toward Kivan. But the other woman was hard and set.

"Better to have let him look after himself than to show your face again," the other told her. "We were fortunate at the Red Sheaf," she said. "We might not be so lucky this time. _You_ were not so lucky. Someone will remember you after that little display. And they will come looking for you.

"Now," the older woman shrugged off Evelyn's hand, "we will make for Nashkel – as far as we can travel before nightfall." And with a pointed look at the raven-haired woman, "Let us _hope_ we are not followed."

She turned away.

"She's right," Kivan grunted as he passed her, the others continuing on. "You should have stayed out of it. Now you have endangered us all. And we must meet these bandits on our own terms."

She looked at him. Her mouth hung open. For a moment, she didn't even know what to say. And he was already gone before she did.

It was bad enough having Jaheira scold her like that. Like – like she was just a child! But him …

She just stared after him for a moment, speechless and fuming, her face flushed and red.

Then Imoen came up beside her.

"Come on, Eve. Let's go."


	11. Chapter 1 To Nashkel

_**To Nashkel**_

The march south to the town of Nashkel and the foothills of the Cloudpeak Mountains was a little longer than the one south from the Friendly Arm Inn. So Jaheira said. And, for the most part, it began as a silent one. At least for Evelyn.

They had made it out of Beregost easily enough. No fire. No pitchforks. No more angry villagers.

And, most importantly, no more scolding.

She did not hate Jaheira. She just didn't care for being treated like a child. Not at all. But there was little else for her to do at the moment but follow, and listen. Maybe the older woman was only trying to teach her something. She had always been a bad pupil. She just hoped she could be forgiven for that.

No. It was Kivan she hated just then. And she made sure that he knew it. Or at least, she tried. She refused to speak to him. Look at him. Or even walk near him while they continued on through the morning into afternoon. But the ranger paid her no heed. He paid none of them very much heed at all. Instead he seemed wary, and keen upon all that quiet forest about. He cared far more about finding and killing his bandits than e did about any_one_ or thing.

She had saved his life. And he had reprimanded her for it.

She just kept glaring into the ranger's back. And somehow hoping it might just catch on fire. But he hardly noticed.

And that was fine. She would learn what she had to, and then she would be gone from the others. If they were so concerned about the harm she might bring them – when she was only just trying to help! – well then she would just make sure she took her lessons well enough and departed all the swifter. If she was so dangerous, then she would be better off by herself anyways.

"Where do you think we should inter Gorion's remains?"

Evelyn blinked at the coppery-skinned woman in surprise, Jaheira having dropped back to walk beside her. She hadn't even noticed. And it took her a moment to remember just what she had said.

But the other woman just cleared her throat, continuing.

"Khalid and I have been discussing this. We are his closest friends," she said evenly. And gave her another pointed look. "But you are his next of kin."

The younger woman looked away, shrugging a little uncomfortably at the thought. Eventually, she just shook her head.

"We had to leave so quickly – I hadn't thought of it." And she tapped an angry hand to her forehead. She didn't _want_ to think about it.

But the next thought in her head was of his dead body rotting beneath the sun, being torn apart a piece at a time by wild animals. It was almost too much.

"Candlekeep," she said at the last. "Candlekeep." She threw her hand irritably aside, blinking away fresh tears at the memories. "That was our home. I want it to stay that way."

But then her face suddenly fell.

"If they ever let us back in."

"Oh, they shall let us in eventually," the other assured her warmly. "I wish that we had a tome of leather parchments made from the hides of the bandits who attacked you, to pay for our entry." Her voice grew fierce as she cast baleful eyes toward any shadows or cover about them, as if they were all teeming with her father's murderers. "That of the one who had slain him shall be saved for the cover." Her knuckles cracked around her oaken staff.

"I am sorry, Evelyn, for sharing such a grim thought," Jaheira apologized abruptly after a time, "but Khalid and myself … we loved Gorion dearly. It is not easy to speak of burial, I know, when his murderers still walk unpunished."

She opened her mouth to speak. But Kivan abruptly raised a hand from in front, forcing them to a halt.

"_Quiet_!" he hissed, motioning violently with that hand.

Evelyn just blinked at him. So did Imoen. Jaheira and Khalid both dropped to the ground. After a moment, a hand from each snatched the two younger women, yanking them down.

Satisfied, the ranger crept forward. He pushed aside a few branches hung low across the path, peering through.

He knelt silently there for some time, the others waiting behind. Evelyn frowned at him. Then the two half-Elves. Imoen shrugged. But they kept quiet.

"Ogrillions," he whispered back to them hastily after a time.

"Two."

He stabbed two fingers into the ground.

"They're eating a …"

And frowned.

"A child."

"_What_?" Imoen nearly shrieked in surprise. Jaheira all but tackled her, stifling the sound with a hand buried in the other's throat.

Evelyn felt her mind reel, suddenly sick and awhirl. The two half-Elves merely exchanged a glance.

"Half-breed," the ranger beckoned Khalid quietly with a hand. Jaheira glared daggers at the Elf, but her husband did not hesitate. As he crouched down next to the ranger, they began whispering softly back and forth. Evelyn only caught a little of it.

"I will draw them," the ranger was saying, stabbing a gloved finger up into the air. "Keep them from me. Hopefully only one will make it that far."

"I'll – I'll do my best," Khalid voiced agreeably. The Elf drew his bow.

"The rest of you," he turned back to them, "keep quiet and out of our way."

Jaheira's face was unreadable, but Evelyn could see the lines of irritation creasing her brow.

Without a word, Kivan notched, drew back, and loosed an arrow. Another leapt into his hands almost instantly.

A shrill cry sounded through the trees. It turned swiftly to a gurgling splutter, like someone gagging on blood. Then a low bellow rumbled towards them through the air, and Evelyn stiffened. Another arrow hissed free.

Heavy steps shook the ground, bounding towards them. Something grunted, and then Kivan was leaping backward. Khalid jumped to his feet. The two curved blades upon his back came sweeping out, gleaming bright beneath the sun.

A looming shape appeared through the screen of trees. And then the branches exploded inward.

That monster was big. Burly, and heavily muscled. With savage, coal-black eyes and yellowed fangs for teeth. What faced them then was a twisted figure of a man. Bigger, and bloodthirsty with rage. The woolen breeches that were its only clothes were doused in red, and a piece of flesh dangled from its teeth. At that, Evelyn fell over backwards from her crouch, and had to swallow back her stomach.

Khalid did not hesitate. Blades flashing in an arc as the creature grabbed for him, he sliced away at its arm at the elbow, ducked under the blow, and swept up along its chest before darting aside. The Ogrillon howled in rage, stomped after the Half-Elf, and took an arrow to the throat. One already stood out proudly from its chest.

The monster teetered, took another step, and then grunted in confusion. Another arrow stabbed through its skull at the eye. And it collapsed.

Evelyn stared at the fallen beast before her with wide eyes. Her breath suddenly returned. She hadn't even realized she'd held it. With it, though, came the fetid stink of that dead monster.

Kivan stood and swiftly moved to examine the corpse while Jaheira and Khalid passed beyond the trees toward where the other beast lay. Evelyn jumped when Imoen grabbed her arm. But she let the other woman drag her after the others.

"Bandits?" Jaheira mused aloud, standing over the grisly scene.

Kivan only grunted as he studied the corpse. He reached down beneath the dead Ogrillon and turned it aside.

Evelyn came up behind Jaheira and Khalid at the other corpse. But that was as far as she got. Before she saw the beasts' victim – a boy torn open there on the road. Blood and black viscera painted the stone. The meat had been gnawed upon.

And she snatched Imoen's arm in one claw-like hand, spun away, and vomited right there into the grass.

"Bandits," the ranger muttered offhandedly after several moments. He unraveled a crumpled parchment in his hands, quickly poring over its length. "Or just hungry …"

Evelyn came back for a moment. Long enough to stand up straight. Before she doubled over abruptly once more.

Imoen swallowed hard beside her.

Kivan moved to the child's body next. But after a few seconds, he glanced toward the retching raven-haired woman in disgust.

"It was a Halfling."

Imoen twisted up her girlish face at him, looking pale.

"Does it matter?"

He gave her a hard look in turn, but said nothing. The bloody parchment had vanished from his hands.

"There is nothing to be done for him now," Jaheira stated impatiently after another moment. Then she hefted her staff in one hand, gesturing ahead down the road once more.

"Shall we?"

* * *

Sleep was more difficult that night.

Fresh nightmares wreaked havoc inside her skull. Hideous monsters tearing apart and then feasting upon a Halfling man while he still lived and screamed plagued her. He seemed to scream her name, and then fall silent – dead. Then he was lying at her feet and staring up into her eyes, pleading.

Sometimes the bloodied body upon the ground was Gorion's, and the burly creatures ripped apart his entrails, disemboweling him with hungry looks as they tended to their grisly work. Sometimes the beasts were the ogres that had ambushed them that night, their yellowed skin doused in the blood of her dead father while that same dark man hovered somewhere beyond the scene, laughing his hollow laugh.

And then she was killing the beasts, tearing them apart with her bare hands the same way they had torn apart the Halfling, and her father. They fell before her in a tide of blood let loose from their veins by her ravaging claws that tore vengefully through flesh and sinew and bone. She was bathing in their blood And then she was screaming as she drowned in it.

She started upward from where she lay so suddenly that she gasped, sucking in great breaths of night air before she could catch herself. The images faded away, slowly, and hid themselves somewhere deep down inside her once more. But they would be waiting for her when she fell asleep again, she knew. She shivered.

And a hand closed over her mouth.

She screamed. Or tried to. She kicked out wildly. But that gloved hand forced her bodily to stop.

"Quiet," a voice admonished at her ear. And then she was free to twist around.

"Kivan?" she whispered fiercely in surprise. The Elf was crouching just behind her in the dark. He put one finger to his mouth, and pointed away.

She frowned at him, but then followed the gesture. And nearly gasped again when she saw the torchlights down below.

They had slept on a rise that night – away from the road. Now, as she looked down toward it, she could easily make out the fires. Not torches. Flaming arrows in a wagon train that gnawed eagerly at the caravan below. She could almost hear the screams.

Eventually, she managed to tear her eyes away and back toward the ranger. Wide-eyed – horrified. She watched the distant firelight glinting in his dark eyes.

"What do we do?" she whispered fiercely. Her stricken gaze twisted back about toward the horror below. He barely more than shook his head.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

She blinked. Then she stared at him for a few more moments. Just … stared. Her mouth hung open.

He seemed to catch the look on her face after a time.

"We can't do anything for them," he told her simply. Those hard eyes were like stones inside his skull – heavy shadows in the night.

She looked back away. And watched the muted carnage below instead for a little longer with him in silence. She didn't know how long. But the cold and the hopelessness of it made her shiver there in the night.

"Take this," the ranger uttered. It was an eternity before he broke that eerie quiet, still staring keenly down and away. His rough, gloved hand had curled over hers.

She glanced down in surprise. There was a ring there. The small piece of metalwork gleamed dully in the dim moonlight.

"What's this for?" she blinked back up at him, frowning. He still didn't look at her.

"I found it on the Halfling," he said simply.

She almost dropped the thing in disgust. Her eyes threaten to bug out of her head as she suddenly imagined just where it had been not to long before. And she almost shoved it right back at him.

"There is some manner of minor enchantment on it," he continued after a moment, stopping her swiftly. "Protective. It will help keep you safe."

She frowned uncertainly at the thing. It was bad enough that he had taken it off a mutilated Halfling. She _tried_ not to think about the one he had killed when they had first met him on the road. And it was a wonder the thing was not covered in blood and gore. But he didn't see.

"You should keep it," she tried to tell him, pushing the thing back toward him. But he shook his head, and looked right at her.

"You have saved my life twice now," he told her. "Maybe this will help repay that debt."

She stared at him for a few seconds, taken aback. Her bitterness of earlier faded away in an instant. And she almost didn't know what to say.

"It was my fault," she managed, barely. "Both times it was because of me …"

"I made my choices," he growled right back. "As you did. Don't take responsibility for my actions."

He stood before she could say anything more. Then he moved quickly away, vanishing back against one of those trees past the others. And he didn't look at her again for the rest of the night.

* * *

Clack! Clack! Clack!

"Good."

Clack! Clack … clack!

"Better. Keep your guard up."

Clack! Clack! Clack, clack, clack!

"Steady …"

Clack, clack, clack … CLACK!

"Steady, child! Keep yourself steady!"

Clack, clack, clack …

"DON'T–"

Evelyn's feet suddenly flew into the air. The world spun. And then she was flat on her back in the grass.

The end of the other's staff slipped in just beneath her chin, forcing her head back. Then Imoen started clapping. And she swatted it irritably away.

"You show much skill, child," Jaheira told her, breathing heavily. She had pulled her staff back and now leaned against it, wiping a brow with the back of one hand. "Whoever instructed you certainly knew what they were doing."

The younger woman rolled over and pushed herself up from the ground, dusting off her leggings. She had stripped from her cloak, but even that could not keep the sweat from pouring so freely out of her. She pulled back a tangled mass of dark hair as she climbed to her feet. Jaheira stood, watching her.

"But you were careless, Evelyn," the other woman told her then. "You showed me your back one too many times, Evelyn."

The raven-haired woman glanced at the other. Then shook her head.

"You didn't hit my back …"

"I know," was her simple reply. "You showed me your back but your legs were left a target. Whenever you spin around like that you lose sight of me. You never knew what I was going to do until it was too late."

"You didn't know what I was going to do either," she rebutted, frowning.

"No, but you made yourself predictable." The other took her by the shoulder, regarding her warmly for a moment. "You are skilled enough, child. Perhaps you might even be able to help us."

Evelyn smiled back at the other woman, a little uncertainly. But warmed by more than just the exercise, nonetheless. That look blunted the hard lines of the older woman's face and the heated determination of her fierce eyes and, in that moment, made her seem the affectionate aunt that she had been when they had first met. It dissolved in an instant though, as the screen of trees back toward the road suddenly parted and Kivan leapt through.

"Three men – Flaming Fist Mercenaries by the look of them – coming this way!" he hissed at them, casting wary glances back over his shoulder. "Not far behind me."

Khalid bounced to his feet, replacing the curved scimitars he had been sharpening behind his back, and Imoen too, scrambling to gather her pack and stuff leftover foodstuffs back into it. Evelyn followed suit as well, but Jaheira remained calm, continuing to wipe the sweat from her face and arms.

"They are a little far afield, are they not?" she asked the ranger.

"Yes. But bandits would seem to warrant their patrol of the roads," he grunted back at them sarcastically, peering toward the road. Then he took her and Evelyn in of a sudden.

"What were you doing?" he demanded.

The dusky-skinned woman regarded him evenly. "Practicing with the girl, if that's any of your business."

He made an irritated sound in his throat, shaking his head. "Then it isn't any wonder they are coming this way. I could hear you from the road."

"They are not bandits," the other responded coolly, "or do you think them dangerous?"

The ranger merely shook his head again, looking away. "We shall see. They _are_ far afield. And few in number. Patrols are usually more organized."

"Then we shall just have to see," the other agreed.

When the three men Kivan had spoken of finally confronted them, trudging heavily through the grass aside from the road in their stout plate mail, everyone had already prepared to leave. But Jaheira told them to stay put. And wait. The ranger voiced no objection, though he obviously did not care for the situation at all. So they had done just that.

Now the three men sighted them, hard eyes glaring from beneath conical, white-plumed helms, and hastened at the behest of their leader to meet the small party of travellers.

"You there!" the leader bellowed. He swept an accusatory finger that took in all of them at once. "You're under arrest for banditry, and highway robbery!"

There was no doubt in his voice as he trudged up to them. Evelyn looked sharply to the half-Elven woman, who held her ground. Imoen's eyes darted worriedly between them even so.

"We know you're part of that bandit group who's been terrorizing the Coast Way," the Flaming Fist continued. He finally came to a stop just a few paces in front of them, hand easy on the blade at his side. "Give yourselves up or there will be … trouble," he growled threateningly at the last.

No one moved. Though, Kivan did ease his hands upon his bow, and Evelyn looked to Jaheira again, fiercely. But the other woman was not about to just let them be arrested, it seemed. She hoped.

"You have obviously been standing in the sun for too long, soldier," Jaheira began almost impudently, "as your head has clearly overheated. I suggest that you cease this foolishness, and leave us in peace. We are expected by the mayor of Nashkel, himself."

The Flaming Fist stepped up to her, glowering down at the smaller woman. She tightened her arms across her chest, tossing her chin up even higher. Undaunted.

"The mayor of Nashkel himself, eh?" the lead man narrowed that dubious eye at her.

"We are no cutthroats of travelers, sir," the bronze-skinned woman continued slowly with steel. "So I would suggest that you let us be on our way."

Evelyn blinked aside, noticing the arrow slipping slowly into the ranger's hand. He caught her frantic look. And ignored it.

"Really now," one of the other officers remarked disdainfully. That one all but had a half-length of steel loosed from its scabbard.

"And why should we believe you?"

Jaheira gave him a wry grin. "If we were bandits," she voiced slowly, as if explaining it to a child, "why would we be walking about in the open?"

The mailed men stood in silence for several moments, studying them none too kindly as their leader weighed the half-Elf's words. Evelyn watched in despairing silence.

And she began to grow startlingly aware that something else was going on there. Something more than just some woefully misplace accusation of banditry. It was something in the way Jaheira stood, staff clutched idly in one hand. How Khalid had a half-inch of steel showing with a hand over his shoulder. Kivan with an arrow tugging playfully at the string of his bow.

She blinked back toward the three Flaming Fist. The two behind had hands clutched tight at sheaths. Eyes darted. There were three of them. And five facing. That three of them were women seemed to be all that was keeping that taunt going. But not for long.

"All right, maybe I was wrong about the bunch of you," the leader intoned grudgingly, and with no small amount of irritation. He was fingering the hilt of the blade at his side. "You're free t–"

And an arrow bloomed inside the man's right eye-socket, silencing him instantly as his head suddenly jerked back. Black and crimson poured down his face as he fell to the earth.

The clearing erupted in motion. Long swords rang clear of leather scabbards as the two remaining Flaming Fist soldiers roared in surprise. "Murder!" one cried, and "Treachery!" the other, but another arrow and a flying ball of energy silenced their tongues as well. One flew clear off his feet as light burst against his breastplate; the other fell to one knee, grasping the end of the shaft that jutted forth from his chest. "Poison!" he choked, spitting up blood, and then pitched forward, writhing to the ground.

For one desperate moment, Evelyn stared in horror. Three corpses littered the ground in seconds.

But it wasn't the Elf who had shot that man. And that eruption of magic was something beyond them all.

Kivan was already moving, Jaheira and Khalid barely a step behind. The ranger leapt aside, landing beneath a tree, the two half-Elves darting for their own cover in the opposite direction. Imoen flung herself after them as an arrow screamed through the space where her head had just been. Evelyn threw herself to the ground.

"Move, girl!" Jaheira shrieked at her lying flat on her stomach even as Khalid pulled Imoen in beside. The raven-haired started crawling instantly, forcing herself forward by knees and elbows. Another arrow hissed above her, and then Kivan was hauling her up into a crouch beside him against the tree.

Then, the arrows ceased.

Several moments passed, their heavy breathing all that could be heard beneath the scattered trees. Evelyn glanced over fretfully, catching sight of Jaheira and Khalid whispering fiercely to each other and angling for a better look at their attackers. Kivan remained still. His eyes were cold and hard.

"If you throw down your weapons and cooperate," a man called out in a cavalier tone after several more moments from somewhere beyond the trees, "then no one will be hurt. If you don't, then you'll all die. A very simple decision on your part!

Evelyn blinked in surprise. Her mind was still reeling, flying headlong away from those corpses and arrows and light. She shook it free, and glanced over at the ranger.

The man had his bow in hand, calm and cool as stone. He was somewhere else, she could see, and no help.

Eventually, she just shifted beside the Elf, trying to get a better look at who was speaking from around the trunk of the tree. And Kivan suddenly yanked her bodily back just as an arrow scored the bark above her.

"_Gods_!" she cried out, spluttering at bark dust and bits raining down on her.

The Elf kept a hand fastened over her, holding her in place. He looked away.

"Who are you?" Jaheira shouted back angrily from the other side of the clearing. The sound of her hands itching for that murderous bowman's throat was clear, even from there. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Name's Teyngan," came the unconcerned response. "What we want," there was a pause, and Evelyn thought she heard laughter.

Another moment, and she was sure of it.

"What we want is your money!"

"What do we do?" she turned wild eyes toward the ranger then. He pushed past her without a word, easing one eye around the tree. A few seconds later, he pulled back.

"There are only three of them that I can see," he told her in a low voice. She could hardly believe his calm. "And I can hear no others. One is a Hobgoblin, and he has a bow trained on us. I would say he is a fair shot," his eyes flicked toward the black-feathered arrow protruding from the fallen Flaming Fist officer's socket. "There is another – a mage – and the third who is betraying himself by speaking to the half-breed. If the bowman and the mage can be dealt with, then he can be handled easily. Can you run?"

"Hand over all your gold, and you'll be unharmed!" that one who had called himself Teyngan continued. "But before you do anything rash, think it over awhile. I'm sure your lives are worth more than the little gold you might possess."

"What?" her head whipped back about toward the Elf.

"Do you see that red maple?" he pointed, and added when she merely frowned, "the red one?" She gave him a hard look, but bobbed her head. "Run to it."

"Bandit scum!" Jaheira yelled. "Come and take it if you can!"

"Stupid, STUPID!" another roared. "Now you DIE!"

A ball of light hurtled across the clearing, exploding into the tree behind the others. It burst into a shower of fire and bark, swallowing the three in a sudden inferno. Evelyn nearly screamed as she saw Imoen vanish in the blaze.

But then Kivan hissed in her ear.

"_Now_!"

She leapt to her feet, charging across the clearing toward the red maple as if those flames that had taken the others were screaming after her. Tears stung at her eyes and she heard someone shout. Then an arrow was hissing past her face. She felt her skin prickle as something roared through the air behind her. And then she leapt for the tree.

The tree where the others had been fell, slowly, flames scouring its length. It cracked and sputtered and then struck the ground.

Kivan was firing his bow, indifferent to the destruction thundering behind him. An arrow leapt free from the string, and another was instantly in his hands, hissing bloody death toward the bandits. Someone bellowed in rage. And then a man in mail was charging the ranger, a heavy-headed mace whirling over his head.

Evelyn leapt to her feet. No arrows screamed at her. No magic. She darted back toward the Elf and the bandit without thinking.

That mace swept around toward Kivan's head, but the ranger ducked to one side. He pulled free the knife from his belt as he stood and thrust toward the other. The man's mail turned the small blade aside, though. He shoved the Elf abruptly away.

Staff in hand, Evelyn swept it around and took the man at the wrist, then the back of the leg, and finally his chest. He collapsed with a sharp cry, the mace falling free from his hand. Then she had him on the ground, the ashwood pressed into his neck.

He tried to lift his head once; she forced him back down. Finally, he just lay there, jaw clenched and eyes fierce. He sucked in ragged, hissing breaths.

"Bastards!" the man she took for Teyngan spat. "Jemby! You killed my Jemby!" His eyes were wild as he took in the ranger, coming back to his feet.

"I have killed many of your kind," Kivan told him, his voice so cold and callous that it sent a shiver down Evelyn's spine. "She was not the first," he continued, brandishing his dagger.

And then he was down on the fallen bandit, his face pressed close to the other's. "And _you_ will not be the last."

Evelyn had pulled the staff away in surprise at the ranger's sudden motion. And now, Teyngan gasped in pain, his hands clenching and unclenching.

"When you see your master in the Hells," the Elf hissed into the other's ear, deathly quiet of a sudden. "Remind him that it was Kivan, whose mate _he killed_," he barely more than breathed, "that sent him there."

"You?" the bandit coughed, blood spilling out across his lips. Then he laughed, the sound catching wetly in his throat. "Tazok will … Tazok will …" he looked down to his chest, Kivan's dagger standing out there proudly. "Look … look what you've done …"

And then he was dead.

Kivan stood, his eyes never leaving the corpse before him. Evelyn merely watched in horror. She dropped her staff.

"You killed him," she breathed. And he merely nodded.

Then she pounded two fists into his chest. Hard.

"He was unarmed!"

The ranger fell back a step at the sudden, angry blow, but the familiar calm returned to his face. "He was also a bandit," he told her simply, and without the remorse she needed to hear. "He would have killed each and every one of us for our gold and our iron."

She stared fiercely into his brown eyes, stabbing at that impenetrable shell. But it remained resolute, as did he.

"Eve!"

The dark-haired woman spun around instantly at Imoen's voice, releasing the ranger. Her eyes went wide in surprise, and disbelief. The other woman caught her in a fierce hug, though, nearly knocking her off her feet. For her part, she nearly forgot about the dead man, only caring that her friend had survived. She squeezed back as fiercely as she could.

"Hey!" the other woman squealed. "Don't choke me!"

Then Jaheira was striding past them, Khalid in tow, looking no more than a little singed at best. She cast a quick glance toward the dead man, and then to the other two bandits further on – a girl and a vicious looking pig-man. She hefted her pack and turned away.

"We need to be moving. Quickly," she said. "There may be more of their ilk skulking amongst the trees and we've bloodied ourselves enough for one day." She looked briefly toward the three dead Flaming Fist. "Best we not be found here by any others, either."

"We're just going to leave them?" Evelyn demanded angrily, staring – aghast - at the older woman.

"We have had this argument before, child," Jaheira intoned with a vexed sigh. "The bandits we will leave to rot. The others we have no time for. And are hardly worth it anyways," she muttered to herself, bitterly, at the last.

And then she was striding away, her husband as indifferent as she on her heels.

Evelyn merely stared after the other woman, feeling almost helpless. Frustrated, and helpless. But there was nothing she could do.

"You'll learn," the ranger remarked at her elbow. And she glanced at him.

"Your morals will not long outlast you here," he told her. "Or anywhere for that matter."

His eyes met hers. Briefly.

They were cold. And dark.

"Do not expect your enemies to show you such mercy."

He pressed forward.

"And what about friends?" she called after him, biting back a few useless, angry tears.

She remembered Gorion. Unburied. Left to rot.

She remembered him.

The Elf paused, and those hard eyes were bearing down upon her once more. Without relent.

"This world holds no mercy for anyone," he said evenly. "Friend and foe alike. Best you learn that, girl, and best you learn it quickly. Or you'll learn just how merciless the next can be. I promise you that."

And with that, he turned away.


	12. Chapter 2 Troubles in the South

_**Troubles in the South**_

The sun was setting by the time they reached Nashkel.

Evelyn looked up just in time to see the small town folding over them, quiet and beautiful. Evergreens sprouted up all along the cobble-turned-gravel road that wound down its middle, branches stretching high and wide to embrace the setting sun. The farmhouses and small cottages were bathed in a radiant, orange glow, a few people milling idly about at ease and in little hurry. With so little worry of their own. It was almost … idyllic.

Evelyn had to choke back a sob.

"Cover your face."

The ranger spared her a glance before pushing past. She reached up mechanically and tugged the hood of her cloak down even more. Everything seemed so peaceful …

But she knew better than they did what ill and bloody fortune she carried in her wake like a dark tide. Sooner or later, it was going to catch up with her again.

They had had little trouble on their continued journey south to reach the town, only a small group of those pig-faced men Kivan had called Hobgoblins giving them any trouble. The ranger took Khalid and Jaheira, though, and made short work of them. Evelyn only saw their corpses afterwards. It had hardly been a comforting sight to add to an already bloody day.

The others had not waited for her, Jaheira at their head hardly losing a stride before crossing the stone bridge at the foot of the town to the opposite bank. As soon as she set foot inside, though, someone raised a hand to stop them.

"Halt and identify yourselves, travelers!"

The voice was stern, though certainly less dubious than those of the Flaming Fist officers had been. Evelyn hesitated only briefly before hurrying over to join the others, not daring to be singled out alone. A man strode to meet them with several others in tow. Each was adorned in a thick mesh of chain links, the sleeves and legs of his tunic and trousers flared out in crimson. Some had bows in hand. They were tense.

The leader swiftly removed a winged helm from his head, tucking it under an arm.

The half-Elven woman canted her head toward the man simply enough. "I am Jaheira," she declared for him, "and we are travelers as you say." Then took them all in with a look. "We are to meet the mayor."

The man eyed each of them carefully. But it was not the same distrust that the other officers had held them with on the road. They seemed more grim than anything, and there was something haunted there. He grunted noncommittally after he had taken them all in, puffing out black mustaches.

"Captain Bardolan's the name," he told them, and waved a gauntleted hand back toward his men. "And we belong to the contingent of Amnish guard that protects this peaceful town. So if you're seeking to resolve troubles, welcome. If you're seeking to cause them, kindly take it elsewhere. Things are not good here."

"What things aren't good?" the half-Elven woman asked innocently enough. She folded her arms across her chest.

Bardolan had turned away. Now he returned slowly, obviously wishing to be done with them already. He leveled a hard eye at the dusky-skinned woman. But she held her ground.

"Aye," the captain eventually barked a bitter laugh, shaking his head, "what _is_ good around here anymore? Our iron is rotten and there is talk of demons in the mines." He suddenly spat into the dirt. "The lower levels have been all but abandoned until this crises passes. And then there is the question of Commander Brage …"

He winced hard. Then growled, "Ack, they have stripped him of that title but I use it yet." The Amnish guards behind the captain exchanged a few muttered words and glances, none of them overjoyed.

Bardolan's voice grew soft, and he seemed to forget they were there, staring hard into the weathered cobbles. "He killed his wife and children in a rage one night and all who saw him. Then he tore himself away and headed for the hills."

His gaze was drawn upward and away toward the west.

"He is out there still, and still we mourn," he sighed, heavily. "As much for him as for those he's taken."

A long moment passed, slowly, while Jaheira seemed to wait for the man to return to the present. No one else spoke.

Finally, the captain blinked. He scrubbed a hand at his eyes, and then twisted his gaze back toward Jaheira.

"Fie on you, now!" he cried at them, angry with grief. "You have brought tears to the eyes of a soldier!"

Without another word, he turned away from them, sweeping the other men up in his wake as he continued to wipe at his eyes and try to regain his composure. One man clapped him on the back, grunting some reassuring words while the other men spared the five travelers no few dark looks. Jaheira's face merely hardened.

"It is late," she told them with a hard look. "We will see about rooms for the night and seek out the mayor in the morning. No doubt he has already gone to bed."

* * *

Evelyn was back at the gates of Candlekeep. They loomed before her, closed and barred. The iron gleamed, cold and implacable in the twilight glow that seemed to emanate from the very stones themselves. And the walls spanned high – higher than they ever had. She could still see over them, though, all the way inside to the central keep. A candle was in her room, burning bright against the shadows that pressed in all around.

For a moment, it was her.

And then the light went out, the brick surrounding the window closing together. Even the walls conspired to keep her at bay.

A familiar voice startled her back to herself then. Calm, and caring. A brush of ice and death against her being.

Her whol body shivered. Ephemerally.

"You cannot go back this way, child," the voice told her. "You must go on."

Gorion was standing in front of her. She felt sudden warmth suffuse her at the sight, beaming bright and wide as she took a hasty step toward him. That chill wind came back, though, and blew through to her very soul.

She froze, and the smile slipped from her face. The man who stood before her then was a shade, his features vague and indistinct. He was dead, she knew.

The phantom of her adopted father gestured toward the blackness of the woods beyond her old home – as though they should have been inviting. It was, in a way, she thought suddenly. But the traveling would be hard. Even as she thought it, though, a smooth and obvious path became clear out of the corner of her eye. It seemed meant for her – _pulled_ at her very being. And promised to quickly lead her away from the life she had once led.

She glanced that way. Her body tugged her along. Insistent. Perhaps it would be for the best.

But something tugged at her from elsewhere too. The thought faded.

The path seemed too convenient. She couldn't stay here. Didn't _want_ to. She had lost everything. But she couldn't ever forget it either. Didn't _want_ to …

Gorion smiled. And faded away.

The pull became a push, but Evelyn turned away, steadfast. The way was not clear, but there were lights ahead in that dark forest. They would help find her way.

A whisper followed her as she moved away, however. Something vestigial. And sinister.

She recognized it. But yet … had never heard it before in her life.

It crept along behind her like a shadow, and burned beneath her skin.

"You will learn …"

She did not look back.

* * *

Instead, she opened her eyes.

Evelyn shot straight upright in bed, gasping air in violently as though she had been drowning and suddenly let loose upon dry land once more. A hand flew to her throat, and she flung it away. Her skin itched. Her blood pulsed oddly. But worst of all, something seemed to be rising up from deep down inside her. Black bile swallowed up her veins.

She leapt out of bed, nearly stumbling along the wooden floor of the inn room she and Imoen had taken, the other woman still asleep and oblivious to it all. Evelyn clawed at wood, throwing herself back to her feet. And then flung open the room door.

She had to get out. The walls pressed in like a vice even as her skull pushed back out. She wasn't alone inside there anymore. Her stomach heaved.

Blinding light drowned her as she plunged headlong and desperate into the hallway. Her skin crawled – like a living thing latched firmly onto her body and making her want to scream. It was all that she could do to keep herself from doing just that as she careened through the common room of the inn.

All sound ceased as she tore past the few people that still loitered in that room, wide eyes fixing in awe and surprise as she fled through their midst. She was already running as hard as she could from whatever black thing it was that was seeping into her bones and coursing into her veins. The dim light blinded, the dead silence deafened, and every nerve in her body was firing all at once. She flung the inn door open and thrust herself out into the night.

Everything was swallowed up in dark as the door swung shut behind. All feeling surged up into her skull, sucked right out of the rest of her useless body. It whirled, churning like scraping bits of metal there against the backs of her eyes. Tearing. Grinding flesh and bone.

And then it all just burst.

She was lying on the ground, panting and mewling into the dusky cobbles. There should have been sound. Horrible sound. Bloody bits of her exploded head all over the dirt.

But there was nothing.

Nothing.

She looked around, seeing little but the shadows lying over the town. That whole nightmare could have just been a dream for all it knew. And she heaved aloud above the ground, heart thumping in her head.

She was alive – still dressed in the long tunic and leggings she had gone to sleep in. Hands clawed back into her making sure it was really still there. Her hair was tangled and wild. She must have looked like some kind of feral beast just then, screaming through the town in the dead hours of night. She felt like one too, though, so it was just as well.

It was over – the dream, the nightmare … whatever it was. But, something had changed. Her skin no longer itched, eyes and ears didn't burn, and she could think. But there was …

Something.

She didn't know what it meant. She didn't _want_ to know what it meant.

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, body still trembling wildly. She couldn't stop it. She wanted to scream at herself inside her head. But it did little more than keep her upright.

_What is _wrong_ with me …_

She barked a sob there in the cold night. They were manic tears she was desperately biting back by the time the inn door opened behind her. She twisted around in surprise, and there was a woman there – no one she knew. But she stared at the utterly distraught girl there on her knees in the dirt with wide eyes.

"Are you alright?" the other asked. She was measuring Evelyn with a heavy gaze. Whether it was for injury or madness, though, she hardly knew.

"I – I don't know," she shook her head, scraping both palms back along her forehead, almost afraid it might still come loose or bust without warning.

"Yes," she managed after a moment. "Yes, I'll be fine," she lied.

"Let me take a look at you."

The other woman took a step forward even so. And Evelyn was immediately on her feet, stepping back. She watched the woman with wide, terrified eyes.

"I am a healer," the other chided impatiently, however, and all but clucked her tongue. Evelyn just stared at her dumbly, too shaken to really do much else. But the woman took it for compliance.

She took the raven-haired woman by the shoulders, looking her over.

"It is not customary for young women to run screaming out of their rooms late at night," she mused quietly as her hands moved to grasp Evelyn's chin and turn her head from side to side, "or for them to travel to strange places alone. Did your man strike you?" she asked abruptly. "I see no bruises."

Evelyn shook her head as the woman finished that examination and released her. Those callused fingers fell away and were replaced with a frowning look.

"Well, then why such a hasty run in the middle of the night?" she demanded.

"It was – it was just a nightmare," Evelyn managed to stammer in reply, feeling her cheeks flush and then quickly drain. Whatever it had been, it had been more than just a nightmare. But she dared not tell a stranger that, no matter how foolish it sounded. The other hardly seemed to believe her, though, by the look of her.

"Hmm. Well, it seems no one has come to collect you," the woman glanced briefly back over her shoulder to the inn door across the path. No one else seemed to be about the town either. "A young woman like you could hardly be alone here, so far from home."

"No," she shook her head. "I'm here with – with some friends," she continued to rattle off, hugging her arms tightly back around herself and trying not to think too much more. "They're – they're inside."

"Oh?" the woman looked back once more. "That's too bad for you."

The end of a club forced its way abruptly into Evelyn's stomach before she could blink, doubling her over with a stifled grunt. Just as her evening meal started working its way back up her throat, another swift blow to the face sent her tumbling over backward to the ground.

The woman snatched up a handful of her hair and started to drag her away from the street. Pain shot through her skull everywhere, and she forgot where she was for a moment. But before she could more than shriek aloud, she was tossed back down into the dirt. A boot thrust into her stomach.

Her eyes flashed back open, and the woman pinned her there firmly against the ground. She cried out again, but it was barely more than a hoarse squeak. Tears burned at her eyes, and she tried to roll over. The other just dug her heel in even deeper.

"Just fancy my luck for seeing you stroll through there just now, bold as day!" the woman cast her head back toward the inn. They were hidden away in the shadows between two dark cabins across the way. "I expected a hunt and a chase from the description, but who am I to argue easy coins in the purse."

Her mind spun. She tried to cry out, but a loud sob was all that she could manage. Then the other woman reached down and hauled her bodily back to her feet. She pulled Evelyn close and raised her club high in one hand.

"May the Lord of Shadows guide you swiftly to your death."

And the club fell.

Her fierce eyes now blazed with that lust for the kill.

Her hand moved. Something seized Evelyn in that moment of stunned self-pitying despair. Muscles twitched and blood surged.

And her hand moved.

It took the other woman at the wrist first, turning the club. Her elbow came next, body twisting her around and sending it into the nape of the other's neck. Back around, and her hand was planted hard in the small of the woman's back. Muscle and bone pushed into flesh and blood beneath, pounding and pulverizing like black stone. A moment – and the other was suddenly writhing in the dirt at her feet.

The club clattered away. Teeth bared, Evelyn felt her body start moving again without her willing it. Anger coursed like hot blood through her veins – alien, and feverish. Her hands reached like claws toward the other woman, ready and desperate to tear her apart. And she almost let them. Almost let them rend the other limb from bloody limb.

But she stopped

Evelyn gasped instead, reeling back. She tumbled down to her knees, wide-eyed and trembling anew. She could only stare at the fallen woman, horrified at what she had almost done – what she had _wanted_ so much to do. She had felt it before – that feeling – felt the bloodlust before in the past few days. But she could feel it now like something alien inside her – like a snake coiled around her beating heart. Bloody, merciless instinct. It was not her. But it was. It had overcome her then, and she had just barely managed to stop it.

It was still there. She felt it – like a demon inside her head. Just waiting to surge forth and take control again. Waiting for her to be weak.

Something tugged at the back of her mind, and she remembered Gorion. And then she understood.

The other woman was looking at her, those fierce eyes pained, but vengeful. Evelyn's foot lashed out before she could reach for the club once more, though. It took the woman on the side of the head and she collapsed, unconscious.

The sound of booted feet charging down the path toward her and rough voices shouting out brought Evelyn quickly back. She leapt upon the other woman, turning her over and rifling through the pouches at her waist until she found what she sought. Taking the crumpled piece of parchment and quickly glancing it over to make sure, she tucked it down her leggings just as several Amnish guards nearly ran her over.

"What is the meaning of this?" one of them demanded harshly as he moved to push Evelyn away from the unconscious woman. The others stood back, weapons readied in their hands.

"She-she attacked me," Evelyn told them quickly, pointing at the beaten woman. "She came after me with a club. When I left the inn."

Her voice was shaking. Almost as much as her. The Amnish man shot her a skeptical look before checking the fallen woman over once more.

"We heard someone cry out," the man said, retrieving the club from where it lay lightly in the woman's fingers. "Was it you?"

Evelyn nodded her head, not sure if it really had been her, and the man glanced over her quickly. She had no weapons to speak of though, and, though confused, he shrugged the matter aside, standing.

"We'll take her to the compound," the man said as he gestured for his two companions to grab the woman. "You get back inside and stay out of trouble, girl. And don't wander at night."

And with that they turned away, leaving Evelyn to herself once more. She stared after them for a long while, though. Until they had drifted away out of sight into shadow. When she finally returned to bed, Imoen still slept. No more dreams visited her that night.

It was the first time she had slept soundly in days.


	13. Chapter 2 The Nashkel Mines

_**The Nashkel Mines**_

"Master Berrun Ghastkill," Jaheira warmly greeted a white-haired Elf in stout leathers with a bow slung across his back. "It is a pleasure to see you alive and well."

The elder man turned from his silent thoughts upon the many graves that lay before him, strewn to either side of the dirt path leading up to a sandstone church of Helm. His eyes seemed troubled at first, but then they caught sight of the half-Elven woman, and his face broke into a wide grin.

"Ah, Jaheira," he greeted in return, moving to embrace her. "And Khalid, too, of course." He shook the man's hand and then took in the three others standing close behind. "Friends of yours?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Jaheira told him. Imoen beamed up at the mayor cheerily but Kivan said nothing. Evelyn felt safe enough beneath her hood, but gave no word either.

"Well, friends of Jaheira's and Khalid's are ever friends of mine," the man spoke congenially. "I am Berrun Ghastkill, mayor of Nashkel, and I am happy to welcome you." But then his face turned grim as he returned to Jaheira. "I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

"What exactly is the trouble here, Berrun?" the half-Elven woman asked.

"I can't believe you haven't guessed," he began. "Have you heard of the iron shortage? Well, Nashkel is in the thick of it. Our mine is all but shut down because the workers continually go missing, and what ore we _do_ get is tainted somehow. I would send in the town guards, but we need them to protect our citizens from the bandits that raid our caravans." He waved a hand aside in irritation. "We _need_ someone to find out what is wrong in the mines."

"You are in luck then, Berrun," Jaheira assured him then, "for whom better to solve your little problem?"

"Little? No, no, no." The man shook his head vigorously, but then stopped, and smiled again. "But you do this, Jaheira, and I'll make you the toast of the town."

"We will see what can be done then." She smiled in reply. "We'll set out at once."

The mayor canted his head in gratitude, seeming suddenly years younger with his relief. "Thank you, Jaheira. Khalid. I will not forget this boon. And there will be restitution, I assure you." He clapped them both on the arm. "Speak with Emerson when you arrive, and tell him that I sent you. He will conduct you inside the mines."

"Very well then." Jaheira briskly turned away toward the others. "Shall we?"

"What is this?"

Evelyn kept her eyes on the path ahead, which had become abruptly rocky and treacherous to either side. "I took it from the body of a woman last night," she told the ranger quietly, "after she attacked me outside the inn."

"What?" His eyes were suddenly boring into her. "What were you doing outside the inn?"

"I had a nightmare."

"What?" he demanded angrily. "You–"

"Read it," she insisted. "Please."

Imoen made her way along some steps ahead of them, oblivious to their words. And Evelyn intended to keep it that way. She had told her best friend nothing of what had happened the night before and, though it pained her to keep secrets from Imoen, she had begun to think it far worse to burden the other woman with her growing madness. It seemed like madness anyways – the whole world seemed to be turning upside down for her. But the pink-haired woman remained somehow cheerful despite it all, and Eve would not ruin it for her. She had already done enough to ruin other people's lives.

"Their eyes are countless it seems," the ranger grunted at her side, lowering the bounty notice. "And their willing hounds almost as much so." His hand suddenly balled into a fist, crushing the weathered parchment. "They know you are traveling with others now, and have probably gleaned that we are moving south." He gave her a sidelong glance, and then looked away, muttering what sounded like a curse.

"Do you think they know about the mines?" she asked him, but he shook his head.

"It would seem as if you were fleeing to Amn maybe," he speculated aloud. "I doubt they know our true intentions though."

"Then we should be safe," she concluded for him. _Then _you_ should be safe_, she amended silently. Kivan nodded.

"Heya, Eve!" Imoen suddenly called back to her, pointing. "Look!"

Ahead the rocky ground began to give way to small cliffs, cascading down and around in a circle toward the bottom of a great, jagged bowl carved into the earth. The pink-haired woman rushed forward to push between Jaheira and Khalid, who already stood at its edge, and peered down. Evelyn and the ranger were not far behind.

They stared in silence for several moments, studying the quiet scene below. Railways crisscrossed the gully, moving in and out of caves that swallowed their ends in blackness. Mining carts lay strewn along them, very few filled with ore and those that were being sifted and examined thoroughly by a handful of men. Barrels and mining tools, picks and hammers, all lay scattered about everywhere, more often than not without a pair of hands to wield them. The miners themselves, dusty but sturdy men, if not sorting through dirty piles of iron, were driving empty carts back into the depths of the mines. Those of that lot seemed the most dismal of them all.

One man stood out from the rest of the bare-chested laborers – a redheaded old ox with a squinting eye and a bushy beard. He carried a hammer in one hand, though it hardly seemed meant for the forge. Instead he cast it about over his head like a scepter, directing the few miners about to their tasks. More often than not Eve could hear the fierce side of his tongue along with it even where she stood so far away, always lashing at the backs of the men returning to the mines.

Jaheira looked first to Khalid, and then to the others. Without a word, she started down.

"Hail there, Master Emerson," the half-Elven woman greeted as they reached the bottom of the gorge.

"Aye?" he answered curtly, narrowing his eyes at the five newcomers. His face seemed to wrinkle over anew as he studied them, a rumble sounding deep in his throat. "Who be ye that come so dressed to me realm of dust and rock?"

"Berrun Ghastkill sent us," she said, taking in their surroundings with a slow sweep of her gaze. "He told us that we might have a look around," her eyes settled back on him, "and see what can be done about your little problem."

"So ye want to take a look about me mine, do ye?" he asked slowly, scratching thoughtfully at his reddish-gray beard. "Well I see no harm." he shrugged after a moment. "Indeed, we could be using the help. Aye, Eduard!" Emerson's hand shot up into the air, waving the hammer around wildly until the darkest of three men in puffy-sleeved Amnish uniforms turned toward them. The master of the mines nodded to the man and his dark mustaches, the coal-black eyes of the other taking in each of the five newcomers before nodding in return.

Emerson turned back to the coppery-skinned woman. "There be problems in the lower level, where we lost some workers," he warned her in a low voice. "The men talk of things a-movin' below, but who's to say. The earth, she hides many things from sight. Aye!" he barked of a sudden as a few dusty miners pressed past, pushing an empty mining cart along the rails toward the mines. "Get along, you louts! Back into the mines, or I'll have yer hides!"

The three Amnish sentries eyed them curiously as they approached what Evelyn took for the main entrance of the mines, having seen the miners with the carts disappearing down it mere moments before. The one man, Eduard, shook his head as he gestured for the other two men to step aside. "If you see any demons in there," he muttered as they passed, "just remember to scream loud enough for us to know how many graves to start diggin'."

The two other guards barked a laugh and received a hard eye from both Kivan and Khalid, but the dusky-skinned woman held her head high, undaunted. Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She had seen _real_ demons. And they were nothing to laugh about.

It was dark in the mines, but not as dark as she had thought it would be. The light of day quickly faded behind them but two lanterns gleamed ahead as they pushed forward, hanging from wooden beams that seemed to barely hold back the stone about. The tunnel abruptly opened upon into a broad cavern.

A few more of the miners moved about in the gloom, forlorn and dismal, it seemed. Evelyn could feel the same begin to slowly bleed into her, and she clutched the ashwood tighter in her hands. She wondered just what was really going on down there.

"Hmm," a dirt-smeared man grunted out of the side of his mouth as they stepped foot within, "adventurers, eh?" He rasped a dry laugh when Jaheira told him just what they were there to do. "I'd leave while you still can if I were you. I've heard awful stories about what's been happening to those that go deeper into the mines."

"What have you heard?" the bronzed woman asked him.

"Well, my friend Ruffie barely escaped with his life he did. Little demon's jumped out of the very walls and chased him down."

"Demons?" she arched a brow at him.

"Aye," the man nodded emphatically. "He'd be dead now if it weren't for the guards that came running. Course them guards are dead now. Old Ruffie's around here somewhere. You ask him what he saw and he'll tell ya. Hey, Ruffie!" he called out across the cavern to another man.

"Wha!" the man coughed in surprise as he twisted around, his eyes gone wide. "What do you want?"

Jaheira turned aside, making her way around an empty mining cart to reach the other miner – a gaunt old man with a bad tick in one side of his face. "Tell us about the mines," she said to the other. "What has been making the miners disappear?"

"Demons!" he suddenly cried, waving an arm wildly. "The little devils are everywhere I tell ya! In the walls, there's coming! They're going to kill us all!"

"Calm yourself," she voiced sternly, staring him down. "What did these demons look like?"

"What did they look like?" he hissed incredulously. "They looked like _demons_, ya blasted idiot!"

The man tore past her before she could scold him in turn, and her face was red as her eyes followed the fleeing miner back up the tunnel. Evelyn watched him go with growing unease. They could hear Emerson suddenly start shouting from outside.

"Well what do we do now?" Imoen demanded, pursing her lips at the older woman. "You keep scaring everyone away."

"I do not like this talk of demons." Jaheira ignored the other's words. "These men might be ignorant in their own right, but the same word is on far too many tongues."

"Demons," the ranger grunted dismissively. "If there were truly a denizen of the Lower Planes here there would be no miners left to speak of it."

"I agree," the half-Elven woman canted her head. "This feels of something decidedly less infernal."

"Whatever it is," the ranger continued, "we should not have brought these two along." He gestured with the end of his bow toward Evelyn and Imoen beside her.

"Hey!" the pink-haired woman cried indignantly. "I'm not afraid of any demons!"

"Where would you have us leave them, Elf?" the coppery-skinned woman demanded.

"Wh-wherever it would b-be," her husband added, "it w-would not be s-safe."

"I won't be left behind," Evelyn told the ranger firmly, her chin set.

"Those bandits are still after her," Jaheira continued. "She is as safe here as anywhere."

The ranger stared at the four in silence for several moments, his face unreadable. Finally, he nodded.

"We may as well follow these lanterns," he suggested, one gloved hand directing them to the far side of the chamber. Tunnels opened up beneath them, more sprawling out and away from that central cavern. "They were put here for a reason."

"Very well, then," Jaheira acceded, and then began moving toward one. Evelyn paused beside the ranger as they each began filing in behind the older woman.

"I can take care of myself," she told him, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. Imoen flashed a knife within her hand as she passed, grinning at the Elf before pressing onward.

"We shall see."

Kivan brushed a hand through the dirt, and then stood.

"I think I know just what our demons might be."

A scream tore through the halls, echoing down the tunnel towards them. Weapons were in hand immediately, Kivan drawing back before the two younger women as Khalid and Jaheira moved forward. They didn't have to wait long before a lone miner plunged into the light, a bony old man with wizened cheeks.

The miner drew up short in front of them, tumbling over backwards in fright. He recovered quickly, however, seeing them for who they truly were.

"They're coming!" he shrieked at them, scrambling to his feet. "The yipping demons, they're everywhere! Save me!"

"Demons?" Imoen took a hasty step back, casting her eyes about. "Where?"

He abruptly tore his eyes about behind him. "There they are! There they–"

Something hissed toward the man from the shadows, stabbing at his neck. He went straight down, gargling blood. Snarling and shrill barking erupted in the tunnel behind him, and more dark shapes lashed out of the darkness. One struck the stone beside Evelyn's head, and she threw herself to the ground with a gasp.

Four shadows leapt out into the light, scaly skin glinting beneath the lanterns behind. Faces drew back in long snouts, their mouths flung wide as they barked to reveal rows of small, jagged teeth. Gaunt limbs pulled at bowstrings, and then arrows filled the tunnel around them.

Khalid threw himself into Jaheira, knocking them both to the earth. Imoen crouched low as the rock above her exploded into splinters, and then leapt aside as another thrust past. Coming to her feet, Evelyn only just had time to freeze before one screamed toward her head. But then the ranger was pushing back into her, grunting as he forced her down.

Jaheira leapt to her feet a step behind her husband, the half-Elf's scimitars tearing into the little yipping beasts before they could draw again. Two went down almost instantly, shrieking their hate. As the other two turned to flee, Jaheira took one off its feet, the other collapsing with one of Imoen's knives in its back. The oaken staff crushed the last's skull.

The gloom fell still once more, and silent but for the sound of their own breathing. No one moved for several moments, the two half-Elves listening intently, it seemed, for any sign of more of the little beasts. But nothing came.

"What _are_ they?" Imoen's face twisted as the tapped with her boot the lifeless corpse of the one she had killed, pulling free her dagger as quickly as she could.

"Kobolds," Jaheira spat. "Loathsome creatures."

"Our d-demons," Khalid voiced at her side.

"Help!" Evelyn shouted in one blind moment of panic, staring down helplessly at the ranger. He had fallen back against the tunnel wall, blood turning his brown leathers black beneath the arrow that jutted out from his arm.

Jaheira pushed through Khalid, Imoen, and then Evelyn, not wasting a moment as she rushed to kneel before the Elf. The raven-haired woman clutched at her forehead from behind the other woman, desperate to see the man's blood stop flowing. He had stepped in front of her … and cast her vow not to see anyone else hurt in her stead right back in her face.

"It is nothing," Kivan assured the half-Elven woman, trying to stand. But his hand slipped against the stone, wet with his own blood. He tried again after a moment, but Jaheira stayed him with a hand.

"If you want to keep the use of that arm," she scolded, "then you will remain still."

He gave her a heated look, impatience clouding his eyes. Then he turned aside and snapped the crude arrow off at the flesh. "Bind it then."

She did not look at him, intent instead upon the wound. "You are of no use without your arm," she told him simply.

Her hands stole forward of a sudden, snatching free the rest of the arrow and pressing firmly against the bloody hole left in its wake. Kivan grunted in surprise, swallowed his words, and then thrust his head back with a wince. Meanwhile the coppery-skinned woman began muttering incoherently beneath her breath. In another moment, a soft azure glow enveloped her hands before quickly fading into the other's flesh. It began to knit itself back together almost instantly, filling in the hole until no trace of it was left but blood and torn leather.

Jaheira drew back, her breath quickening for a moment before she could bring it back under control. Evelyn and Imoen both looked to the older woman in wonder, but Khalid took it indifferently.

"A druid?" Kivan breathed, flexing his newly healed arm experimentally. "Why did I not see it before?"

The other nodded, pursing her lips. "Perhaps you pay too much attention to what might be out of reach and waiting and too little to what is close at hand." She turned back toward the fallen kobolds. "I believe we can safely assume that these creatures are what have caused the disappearances of the miners. All that remains is to discover what taints the ore."

"If these are the demons that have stricken so much fear into the miners then there must be no less than a horde scattered about these tunnels," Kivan said as he gained his feet. "We should not tarry here long."

"The kobolds must have been drawn here for a reason," Jaheira added thoughtfully. "The guards would have made short work of them or at least given some word had they known of this."

The ranger grunted his agreement. "Something is guiding them," he continued. "For no one to know the truth of this would require far too much coordination for simple kobolds."

"A l-leader?"

"Perhaps." The ranger canted his head.

"We shall see," Jaheira told them after a few moments. "For now, we must continue. The Elf is right. We cannot stay here."

Evelyn watched as Kivan looked intently into an abandoned old mining cart, this one half filled with iron ore. After a moment, he reached in and retrieved a dark, jagged stone about the size of his fist, and cradled it in his hand. Then he squeezed, and it crumbled apart between his fingers.

"Hey!" Imoen stabbed a finger at him. "That's not yours!"

"The iron ore is tainted as they say," he remarked softly, ignoring the pink-haired woman. He shook his gloved hand free of dust.

"What's making it so brittle?" Eve asked, picking up one of the dark rocks and squeezing it for herself. But it failed to break within her grasp. Strength had never been one of her strong points.

The ranger merely shook his head. "Come," he ordered quietly, turning an ear to the shadowed passages ahead. "We should continue."

The dark corridors seemed to stretch on forever, only the few lanterns hung intermittently throughout giving them any light at all. And many of them seemed as if they would not last much longer. Jaheira had strictly warned them against the use of any light while within the mining tunnels, something that Kivan had not been loathe to uphold. They had seen few kobolds since earlier, but that did not mean they were not still out there. As it was, they were making a good job of avoiding any notice in the tunnels.

Jaheira had taken Khalid some time earlier, delving further into the eastern passages while leaving the ranger and the two younger women to search the west. Evelyn had not cared for the idea at all, but the older woman had said that they had only a vague idea as to what they were looking for and would need to search a large area quickly. Now that they knew the identity of the miners' demons the others seemed far less hesitant. Evelyn was relieved too, of course, but that didn't mean she cared any more for the little yipping dog-monsters that infested the mines. The thought that they might not escape them so easily a second time worried her terribly.

Another tunnel gaped suddenly on their left, warmer air drifting out from its murky maw. Kivan drew them to a halt, and motioned for silence. As if they hadn't been already …

"Voices," he told them, turning instantly toward it. He pulled them along in his wake, creeping further into the dark passage. As they did so, the soft sound of murmuring began to reach her ears.

Light poured into the tunnel ahead, and they passed beyond it into another large chamber carved into the rock. Racks of shovels and picks and hammers were scattered around it, more mining carts standing still atop the railway that ran back underfoot the way they had come. A few miners also milled about within, gathering up tools and examining bits of ore beneath the many hanging lanterns above. None of them seemed to notice the newcomers. But the two guards did.

"Halt!" one of the Amnish soldiers barked, drawing his sword and thrusting it toward them. "You make one move that be suspicious and I swear your head will leave this mine before your neck!" His companion had an arrow already knocked to the string beside him.

Kivan raised a hand placatingly, keeping his bow lowered in the other. "We mean no harm," he grunted quickly, almost irritably.

"How d'we know that?" the other soldier accused quickly. "Yer awfully well armed to be strollin' about some mines."

"We were sent by the mayor of Nashkel," Evelyn offered quickly, stepping up beside the ranger, "Berrun Ghastkill. Do you," she looked from one to the other, "do you know what's happening down here?"

The two guards exchanged a glance, but then lowered their weapons. "Don't know what's been happening to the ore," the first told her, sheathing his sword, "and I don't rightly care. I'm here to protect the miners and that _don't_ include poking around in the depths." A few of the bare-chested men started grumbling from where they worked, but then the guard shouted for them to quiet down, and it ended.

"Smelled a kobold the other day," the other added, "and chased him down as far as I dared. Let 'em have their dank holes if they want," he shook his head. "Nothin' but a nuisance on their own, anyway. Too stupid to be behind what's going on."

"Aye," the first barked a laugh. "Some of the younger guards might be nervous because of what's be going on, but I've been around a bit. Kobold tracks down there. Lots of 'em."

"Is it safe here?" the ranger asked abruptly, scanning the room. One of the guards nodded his head.

"As safe as can be with the finest o' the Amnish forces guarding it."

"Ya, but I canna believe I'm reduced to wearing this shoddy armor," the first soldier gestured with his puffy red sleeves toward the other man. They seemed to almost have forgotten about the three intruders. "Between you and me," he muttered to the other guard, "I smuggled out some ore for a blacksmith friend to use. Even that was plagued like the rest."

Kivan turned to the two women. "Stay here," he told them quietly. "I will find the half-breeds and see what they might have learned."

"_What_?" Imoen whined, folding her arms across her chest. Evelyn stalked up to him.

"I told you," she gave him an icy stare. "I won't be left behind."

He eyed her impassively for a moment. Then he turned abruptly away.

"Hey!" the raven-haired woman stomped after him. "I told you–"

"I will come back when I have found them," he spoke over her, spinning on his heel of a sudden and bringing her up short. "Do not follow me," he added adamantly, his eyes glinting in the lamplight. She opened her mouth to speak, but the look he gave her forced her jaws to click shut just as fast.

"Be careful in the mines," one of the guards called after the Elf as he strode away. "I was on deep patrol yesterday. Saw the body of one of the miners that was lost weeks ago." He hesitated as the ranger turned back briefly. "Scary thing was," the man continued, "it saw _me_ too."

Kivan turned away without another word, and faded into shadow.

"Are you alright?"

Evelyn rushed forward at the sight of the two half-Elves, her eyes wide. Jaheira waved her aside with a bloodied hand.

"Your concern is noted child, but unwarranted."

"You two look terrible!" Imoen stood aghast as she studied the blood upon the two. "And you smell awful!"

The druid raised a cross eye toward the younger woman. "That is because not all of this blood is ours, girl."

"Kobold blood?" she ventured further, her face scrunching up.

Kivan's hands worked diligently to bandage the wounds of the dusky-skinned warrior, a poor attempt at it already having been made by someone else that the ranger was muttering over. Khalid grunted as the other tightened a torn strip of cloth abruptly about his arm. He looked up at Imoen. "Y-yes, it is."

"That's disgusting!"

"Believe me, child," Jaheira began irritably, "we no more wanted their foulness upon us than they wished to lose it."

Evelyn cast her eyes about the narrow passage to which Kivan had brought them to join the others, anxious that the shadows might spawn more of the vicious little creatures. From the looks of the two half-Elves though, she doubted that there could possibly be any left alive in the caverns. Still, they seemed safe, for the moment.

The ranger had reappeared to gather her and Imoen up not long after he had first gone, giving them no word but to follow. Evelyn had hardly known what to expect when they arrived, but the two covered in blood had not been what she had had in mind. They were lucky they had more life in them than not.

"What happened?" she asked, and Jaheira gave her a wry look.

"I think it quite obvious, child."

It wasn't – not really. But Evelyn could guess.

"What do we do now then?" she persisted.

"We cannot stop," Kivan responded quickly. "Small bands may be simple enough to overcome, but soon they will overcome their fear and bring their true numbers to bear."

"I am well aware of that," the druid snapped at him. "We were merely resting."

The ranger ignored her, however. "What have you discovered?"

"N-nothing," Khalid answered him. "Only more of th-those beasts."

"And this," his wife pulled free a small vial from a pouch at her waist. She handed it up to the ranger as he reached to examine in. "One of the little monsters dropped it," she continued as the other studied the strange green liquid inside. "We found another that had been emptied, and all the iron ore filling the mining carts nearby was discolored and brittle." She pursed her lips. "I think we have found the source of our weakened iron."

The ranger grunted. "We still do not know why," he told her. "Kobolds would not do such a thing on a whim." Jaheira nodded.

"This passage leads deeper into the mines." She pointed further along the narrow tunnel. "We were to continue down it."

"Undoubtedly these kobolds have nested themselves somewhere deep below," Kivan mused.

Struggling with the pain of her injuries, Jaheira pushed herself up from the ground, refusing any aid. "Let us continue then," she said aloud as she tested the strength of her legs, "and see what we will." Khalid began to voice his concern for her condition, but she silenced him with a hard eye.

No one else bothered.


	14. Chapter 2 Demons in the Deep

_**Demons in the Deep**_

The first thing that Evelyn noticed in the deeper tunnels … was the silence.

Lamps hung overhead, most burning out the last of their short lives against the dark below. Railways stretched away beneath them, sprawling outward into the mines. More carts stood empty and abandoned upon them, a few scattered picks and hammers dropped hastily about. A wind then howled deeper in the darkness, the bowels of the mines seeming to growl aloud. Evelyn shivered.

Imoen nudged her in the back. "You first," she said.

"Wait!" Kivan hissed in warning at them abruptly. He pushed past and made his way forward, casting his eyes warily about. A dark huddled form Eve had not noticed lay on the ground ahead of them. As the ranger knelt down beside it, she realized that it was a body.

"Another miner?" Jaheira offered from behind. But the other shook his head.

"Guard," he grunted, gesturing toward the torn crimson sleeves and leather armor.

The coppery-skinned woman canted her head simply. "We found several in the tunnels above."

"Not like this," the ranger muttered under his breath. Then he rolled the corpse over from its side, snapping the kobold arrows that had jutted out from its back. Imoen gasped, and Evelyn paled.

"What … what happened to him?" the pink-haired woman breathed.

The dead man's black hair was coarse and caked with dried blood and dirt, his flesh pallid, and there was little doubt that he had lain there for some time. The kobolds had killed him, it seemed, but that was not what threatened Eve's delicate stomach at that moment. No, not at all.

Kivan reached a hand down and closed the man's wide and horror-filled eyes. "Kobolds did not do this," he said aloud. "Their arrows only left him wounded." His fingers dipped down into the blood of the corpse's face, and Evelyn felt her stomach heave. "He was alive when they ate him."

There was silence then, and the raven-haired woman felt the tunnels grow suddenly colder. Except for Imoen, the others seemed unfazed. The ranger stood.

"We must be very careful," he spoke softly without facing them. "There are far worse things than kobolds in these mines."

Then he moved past the others. "We must not linger," he warned, sparing an eye for the wounded half-Elves. "We are trailing the scent of blood."

Before Evelyn could even guess at just what that might mean, he had continued on into the tunnels. With a last look for the mutilated corpse, she cringed and blinked away the sight of claw marks in torn, bloody flesh. She was better off _not_ knowing what it meant.

A great catwalk of stone sprawled the chasm before them, reaching forth across the precipice like a massive arm. No lanterns hung anywhere near, their trail having died off some time ago. Instead, a dull orange glow seemed to light the stone about. And as they moved carefully forward onto the stone bridge, the rock fell away from them to either side, descending deep down into the earth.

Evelyn stuck her head out over the edge of the narrow bridge, but couldn't see what produced the light below. Heat blasted her face though, as she did, and she could only imagine what lay beneath that twisting descent of jagged rock. Imoen stomped a foot experimentally into the stone causeway, but nothing shook, much to Eve's relief. Jaheira gave the pink-haired woman a hard look and then continued on.

"This could not have been the miners' doing," the older woman commented aloud as she surveyed the narrow chasm about.

"No," the ranger agreed. "I have seen very few signs of them having come this far."

They picked their way cautiously across, as mindful of the unearthly silence around them as anything. Kivan had his bow drawn and readied though, holding it low as he pressed onward. Evelyn wondered if he could hear anything that she could not. But he said nothing. Still, she clutched her staff tightly at her side.

"I find it odd that we have not seen any kobolds of late," Jaheira said slowly after a few moments more. They had almost reached the other side of the chasm.

The ranger nodded, but did not look back. "I have seen their tracks, a good many of them fresh … but none of _them_."

"Maybe they're hiding," Imoen whispered conspiratorially.

"Nonsense, girl," the half-Elven woman shook her head, but then stopped in her tracks, exchanging a look with her husband.

"Th-they _are_ known for their t-trickery," he offered simply.

Evelyn slowed to a halt beside the two, Imoen twisting about, curious. But then Kivan had reached the opposite edge of the causeway.

"Across! Now!" Jaheira was suddenly bounding forward.

Eve could hear the familiar yipping even over the druid's shouting, and she had the presence of mind to duck just as the air around them filled with arrows.

Kobolds were everywhere all of a sudden, leaping out of the shadows and cornering them from both sides of the stone bridge before they could even think to reach the opposite end. Imoen threw herself to the ground beside her friend, Jaheira and Khalid leaping aside. The older woman slipped and nearly tumbled over the edge.

Evelyn threw out a hand and snatched at the coppery-skinned woman, even as her husband launched himself toward the scaly beasts behind them. A knife flashed in Imoen's hand, hurtled free, and then she went down again.

Pulling the older woman back from the precipice, Eve looked desperately for the ranger. Two kobolds had already fallen before him, and another took an arrow in its gullet as it rushed to meet him. The rest quickly surrounded him, though, and brandished wicked looking small blades as they closed in.

Evelyn leapt to her feet, leaving the druid behind, only to have an arrow hiss past her face. She gasped, nearly tumbled over backwards, and then threw herself forward and toward the Elf.

Kivan vanished for a moment amidst a throng of scaly bodies, and then the raven-haired woman was tearing through the little monsters. The ashwood struck and swept, flashing in her hands, cracking skulls and sending scaly bodies hurtling aside. They shrieked and barked and leapt all over her.

A sword stabbed at her thigh; her boot crushed a red-eyed face. An arrow screamed toward her, downing the kobold beside her instead as she whirled away. Then scaly arms wrapped around her leg. She struck a fist to the side of a dog-like skull before it could tear into her thigh.

She looked up abruptly, only to find the ranger standing aside and firing his elegant bow ahead. Another kobold fell, and then another, losing their bows as they screamed out, dying. A knife hurtled past her, and another fell. And then, it was over.

The remaining kobolds had turned to flee, leaving Evelyn twisting frantically about to find another to tear loose. Kivan fired after them, his motions mechanical and relentless. And then they were all gone, swallowed back into shadow.

"They w-were w-waiting for us here," Khalid said as he hauled Jaheira along at his side to meet the others. His curved swords had returned to their sheaths, but Evelyn could easily see the bloody carnage they had left in their wake upon the other side of the causeway. Jaheira was a ghostly pale, leaning on both him and her oaken staff for support.

"We must hurry!" Kivan hissed in warning. "They will return in greater numbers if we do not move!"

"We will go then," Jaheira told him calmly as she pushed away from her husband and onto her own feet.

But Khalid was pulling her back almost instantly. "Y-you cannot walk, dear," he told her.

"Of course I can." She gave him an indignant look. But when she tried to take a step forward, she nearly collapsed.

"She has lost too much blood," the ranger stated impatiently.

"I will c-carry you," Khalid offered quickly, taking her arm.

"I will not be slung like some sack of meat!" she voiced fiercely. "Now help me stand."

"We have no time for this," Kivan muttered, turning away. The half-Elven warrior merely nodded his head. And then he grabbed Jaheira, thrust her into the air, and slung her over one shoulder.

Her protest was immediate and deafening.

The ranger stared daggers at the half-Elven woman before she finally had the presence of mind to quiet some, though she continued barking at the man holding her. Evelyn only caught something about horns, Silvanus, and gutting fish before Khalid set his jaw firmly at the last, and started forward.

"L-let us g-go."

"You'd think they'd clean this place up a bit before letting us in."

Imoen rolled her eyes at her best friend, and Evelyn gave her a weak smile. It did little to help the pervasive gloom that surrounded them. But it did help.

"We m-must find somewhere t-to rest," Khalid voiced concernedly from behind. Jaheira had ceased her thrashing some time ago and hung limp where he cradled her now in his arms. "Please."

Evelyn gave the older woman a worried look, but could do nothing.

"Here," Kivan whispered back to them, pulling his head out from an adjoining tunnel. "There is a cave."

The half-Elven warrior had had Eve retrieve a torch from his pack some time ago, the fierce eyes of his wife fixed heavily upon her the entire time. It still burned brightly in her hand, and she hurried forward to hand it off to the ranger.

Kivan moved slowly into the small cavern, sweeping the torch about in a wide arc. The others poured in behind him, quick to lay the coppery-skinned woman down against the stone wall just inside. They forgot him as they saw to her wounds.

"She will b-be alright," Khalid assured them, checking her bandages. "She just needs r-rest."

"Can't she just … _heal_ herself?" Imoen asked at his elbow.

"Y-yes," the other nodded his head. "After she rests."

Evelyn tossed her staff down and watched for a time, her concern beginning to ebb somewhat once it seemed that the woman's husband had her care under control. They had seen many such hardships before, she had to keep reminding herself, and undoubtedly knew full well by then just how to handle them. Eve only wished she could be half so able. Then maybe she wouldn't keep getting everyone else around her into so much trouble.

She looked away, and found Kivan standing some paces distant, staring down into the earth. Then he abruptly crouched down, bringing the torch low. There was something lying there on the ground and Evelyn was pretty sure it wasn't just more rocks.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, moving closer. The ranger slowly stood.

"Kobold bones," he grunted. Then he was moving forward, toward the opposite end of the cave.

Evelyn gave him a curious frown, but followed along with her eyes. He seemed to follow a trail of more of the bones, hunched over and scanning the dirt around. Then the trail ended, and he straightened.

"What killed them?"

Eve cast her eyes about, shivering against a sudden chill. The ranger turned, and stopped, staring intently at her. Her brow furrowed as she looked back.

"What?"

She felt the air about her move even before she heard a sound, realizing only too late that the other had not been looking at her, but past her. Something barreled into her with a screech, knocking her clean of her feet. For a moment, she was being prodded all over, wrapped so tightly that she couldn't move. But instinct overtook her, and she turned the fall into a roll, sending the thing hurtling away with her feet.

The torch had fallen to the ground, the bow pulled free from Kivan's back. He leapt over her, an arrow drawn. Evelyn twisted about onto her stomach but could see nothing beyond the gloom. She leapt to her feet, tearing free Fuller's dagger from her side and slicing the wool of her leggings in her haste. She ignored it, though, clutching the small blade like a talisman against the dark.

Imoen stood beside the still slumbering druid, her own gaudy cloak dropped from where her hands had frozen in shock. "What," she breathed, "was _that?_"

Khalid already stood, half-crouched and with both his curved blades at the ready, between Jaheira and the shadows that pooled about. He remained still and silent, as did they all, waiting.

An arrow hissed free from Kivan's bow, abruptly scoring stone in the gloom. Something shrieked, and then the ranger was firing another. Evelyn rushed aside and snatched at the torch, raising it high. She only caught a glimpse of whatever it was before it seemed to scurry away back into the dark.

"Do not move," the ranger voiced firmly aloud. But Evelyn, the torch in one hand and the dagger in the other, pushed forward and past him. Shadow melted away … and Evelyn nearly screamed.

Eight dark eyes stared up at the raven-haired woman as she came up suddenly short, two mandibles gaping wide as the thing hissed at the light. It recoiled, another eight, hairy legs scrabbling along the stone as it backed its bulbous body back into the cave wall. Imoen _did_ scream.

The thing leapt into the air abruptly at the sudden shrill sound, hurtling once more into Eve. The raven-haired woman froze for one terrible moment. And then the thing was on her, all spindly legs clawing at her sides while fangs hissed for the flesh at her neck. The torch clattered away.

Mandibles snapped at her throat even as the ranger buried two arrows in the beast, Khalid beside them in the next instant and sweeping his blades clean through its legs. Then its eight-eyed head flew free, shrieking its hate before steel loosed its viscera. It splashed down all over the woman beneath.

Evelyn stayed still for only a moment … and then her body erupted in a flurry of motion, desperate to kick, push, and swat, the lifeless husk from atop her. She sucked in ragged breaths, half-choking and half-gagging as both Khalid and Kivan grabbed one of her arms each, dragging her up to stand. She could not resist kicking the headless carcass one last time before she did, however.

"_That_ was," her voice trailed off as she swept a trembling hand back through her hair. She couldn't even look at the thing. Her whole body was trembling violently. "That was …"

"Spider," Kivan finished for her, moving forward to survey the dead thing briefly. But Imoen's thought was far closer to Eve's own.

"Disgusting!" the other woman blurted with wide eyes.

"Are th-there more?" Steel slid back home behind the half-Elf's back.

The ranger retrieved the dying torch from the ground, taking it in hand as he quickly searched the cave once more. He shook his head after several moments. "No."

Evelyn tried desperately to still her crawling skin. She didn't dare touch what stained her tunic. "I … h-hate …"

"An hour's rest," Kivan declared curtly, eying the unconscious druid, "no more." He took his bow in hand, making swiftly for the cavern entrance. "I will see what I can make of the kobolds' tracks. We have made much noise," he added with a hard look for Imoen. And then he was gone.

"Have ya ever seen one that big?" the pink-haired woman demanded as soon as the ranger was gone, but Evelyn shook her head. Imoen shivered visibly. "I don't think any books back home were big enough for _that_."

Eve didn't answer, still too shaken at the sight of it – and the _feel_ of it – to speak. Instead she pulled free some fresh clothes from her pack as quickly as she could, anxious to rid herself of whatever it was that the spider had bled all over her. If they needed another new torch, she knew _exactly_ where they were getting it from.

Whatever the ranger said about an hour's rest, Evelyn knew that she wouldn't dare sleep a wink. She already had too many nightmares to add a new one.

"How many are there?"

"A half dozen," the ranger answered Evelyn softly, casting a wary eye toward the murk of the tunnels behind. Eve glanced the other way, back toward Jaheira. But the half-Elven woman still rested, barely shifting in her sleep. She had regained some color, but she still looked far too much like a corpse. That Evelyn was beginning to know all too well just what a corpse looked like by now was almost lost on her. Almost.

"Then we'll just have to be quiet and wait," she told the other. "Jaheira still needs to rest." Kivan had hardly been gone for an hour.

But the ranger shook his head. "They are reorganizing," he explained. "They are fortifying their position. And soon they will be able to push forward against us at their leisure."

She bit her lip, giving the unconscious woman another helpless look. "Well," she returned to him, "just what are we supposed to do then?"

He grunted, casting a critical eye over her shoulder toward the two half-Elves. Then, he leaned closer.

"These beasts are not the ones who killed your foster father, Evelyn," he whispered harshly, his hard eyes like augers boring into her skin. "This quest is a fool's errand – benevolent, yes – but far removed from our true cause."

She began shaking her head, but he continued on over her.

"These two have promised to help you, yes," he acceded, "but they are using you now to further their own ends. You asked me to teach you," he added at her sudden reproving look, "how to take your revenge. Well the first lesson is knowing when and where to strike. It is _not_ here, and we are wasting time!"

They both glanced quickly back toward the others at his last bark of anger, but they seemed not to have noticed. Evelyn almost wished they had, though.

"You want me to abandon them?" she demanded aloud, hardly caring to keep the sudden anger from her voice. "You want me to leave them down _here_?"

The ranger looked away, muttering something strange beneath his breath before turning back to her. "This errand has become far too dangerous to be worth its while," he argued right back with equal venom against her unspoken words. "Hunting kobolds through these tunnels is one matter, but these beasts are too well organized. Something is giving them _orders _and _direction_ and right now we are in the way of it!"

His eyes tore themselves away for several moments, tracing the earth beneath as he tried to recomposed himself. Evelyn, for her part, didn't give him the chance.

"Go then," she said, pointing. "Leave."

He stared at her, hard.

"What?"

"_Leave_," she repeated crossly, folding her arms over her chest. "If all you care about is finding your bandits, and not at all about what happens to anyone else …" she trailed off, shaking a hand emphatically, "well … go find them on your own if you won't help anyone but yourself!"

She turned away swiftly, but he caught her arm, yanking her back around to face him. "This is not only about me," he grated on at her, "or have you forgotten just who it was who murdered your father?"

"I haven't forgotten anything!" she snapped. She would never forget. "But I'm not about to abandon everyone else for someone who's already dead like you!"

She tried to pull away, but he forced her back once more. "You know _nothing_ of my Deheriana," he hissed through clenched teeth, seething with sudden rage. His gloved fingers dug painfully into her arms like steel talons. "_Nothing_ you felt for your dead father could _ever_ compare with my love for her!"

His whole body was trembling, and she felt a moment of panic as she looked into his crazed eyes in that moment. "Let me go," she told him as evenly as she could, but her voice still managed to waver. Something in it stopped him cold, however, and he abruptly released her.

Kivan turned away, seeming completely lost for a moment before his face was like stone once more. He moved back toward the gaping hole that led out back into the tunnels and stood there, staring off into the gloom. Evelyn rubbed at her arms, at the bruises she felt there.

"Can we attack them?" she asked hesitantly after a time. The other did not look at her.

"The tunnels are too narrow." His voice was cold. Dead.

She nodded her head. "What if we take them by surprise?"

"And how would you propose we do that?"

"You would know better than I would," she said simply. He looked at her then.

"We could," he said slowly in that same deadpan voice. She waited for something more, but he just stared at her without expression. It began to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Then let's do it," she told him finally. He canted his head.

"Very well."

The air was black, and still.

Three pairs of beady red eyes blinked in the darkness, lazily pouring over the lifeless tunnels about. One of the kobolds snapped at another as it ambled past, both instantly brandishing small, twisted blades before them. They barked angrily back and forth, but then the third growled loudly, and they both quieted. Then their red eyes turned back toward the stone passages beyond once more.

A soft glow began to illuminate the tunnels, around a bend in the stone a dozen paces ahead. The third kobold waved a hand and the other two dropped low into a crouch, short blades in hand. They began to creep slowly forward.

"Now!"

Evelyn flung the torch free from her hand, sending it hurtling around the bend of rock and out into the passage beyond. It struck the ground and burst into smoldering embers. The kobolds shrieked as light suddenly exploded before their eyes.

One of the little beasts was down before anyone could even move, an arrow through its eye. Imoen took the next with a knife to the chest, and Eve smashed the last into the tunnel wall with the edge of her staff. She crushed its throat once it hit the ground.

"How did you get so good with those?" Evelyn nodded at the slender blade that the other woman plucked free from the dead kobold. She wiped it on the little beast's scaly skin with a look of disgust, and then it vanished up her coat sleeve.

"You had Jondalar," she shrugged, "I had Erik." She shook her head. "He tried ta give me a bow once, but I told him it was too big to hide."

"Quiet," Kivan hissed as he drew another arrow. "There are more."

"Come on!" Eve whispered fiercely, grabbing Imoen. The other woman tried to snatch up the torch but Evelyn pulled her away. "Leave it!"

They pulled back along the rough stone wall once more, alongside the ranger and out of sight of the tunnel beyond. The Elf cast a furtive eye around the bend, but turned back quickly. "They are not coming," he muttered grimly.

"How many?" Evelyn asked.

"Four. All armed with bows. They are waiting for us." He almost sounded dismayed, but then his voice was cold. "I expected more."

"Can't ya just shoot them?" Imoen leaned forward for a look herself, but the ranger stuck an arm out and pushed her back.

"The torchlight is making them too difficult to see," he shook his head. Imoen gave the raven-haired woman a cross look.

"I'll get it," Evelyn said hurriedly and flung herself out into the tunnel before either of them could stop her. She was greeted almost instantly by a hail of arrows.

Two black-feathered shafts hissed past her, one just before her chest and the other going wide behind her. The third struck her ear and she cried out, a hand flying toward where it had nicked flesh. Her other snatched at the torch, and then she was scrambling back out of sight.

Evelyn passed the torch to the ranger and he tossed it aside without a moment's pause, the light tumbling along the stone behind them. Then he dropped to one knee, drew an arrow back, and circled around the bend.

A high pitched shriek was all she could hear to mark the death of another of the little beasts. And then the Elf pulled back, reloaded, and swept around once more. Another cry, and again he returned.

"I cannot find the last two," he hissed back at them, then stood. "Follow me!"

Kivan leapt around the stone and out into the open, Evelyn and Imoen on his heels. The raven-haired woman brought herself up short, however, lunged for the fallen torch once again, and then darted after the two.

Beating back the blackness, the ranger leapt as the stone fell away to either side before them ahead, that same strange orange glow gleaming up from a precipice below. A narrow bridge of stone spanned that sliver in the earth, and he landed on its opposite side just as Imoen began to cross.

An arrow hurtled into the ranger from the shadows just ahead, a shrill bark sounding in its wake. Kivan had just enough time to loose an arrow before the black-feathered shaft exploded past him, sending him tumbling over as he abruptly lost his balance and fell. A knife slipped free into Imoen's hand as she charged forward.

The torch bounced in Evelyn's hand, scattering light ahead of them … and there the last kobold was. The third was lying limp and lifeless beside it. It raised its bow and drew back. Metal flashed in the dull light. And then the kobold collapsed to the ground, a knife through its skull.

Imoen let her hand fall, staring down at the dead kobold for a brief moment before twisting back around to her friend with a broad grin. Evelyn returned the other's smile, but then her face fell. Her hands went numb. The other woman only gave her a bemused look.

"What?"

The Elf reached Eve's side just as Imoen let her eyes fall downward to the black-feathered shaft that jutted out from her stomach. Those green eyes went wide, and lifted back up to meet her friend's own.

"Oops."

And then she fell.

The torch and the ashwood staff both clattered loudly to the stone below as Evelyn bolted forward, catching her best friend just before she struck the ground. Tears began to well up in her eyes, blurring the world about, but she could still see clearly the blood that had begun to seep outward to stain the other woman's tunic and coat. There was so little for such a terrible wound, and it was hardly noticeable against the pink in that gloom. Eve felt sick.

Imoen merely stared down at the arrow sticking out of her, unable to take her eyes away. Evelyn tried to say something, only a hoarse squeak coming out as she opened her mouth. Every thought had flown out of her head and she snatched desperately back at them, as desperately as she clutched the only true friend she still knew in that world.

"It doesn't even hurt," the other was mumbling.

"I told you that this was a fool's errand," Kivan muttered chidingly from behind, standing just above them both and terribly still.

Evelyn's head tore around toward him. "Do something!" she shrieked. "Help her!" But the Elf did not move.

"There is nothing to be done," he spoke evenly. "That wound is mortal."

She glared daggers at him, willing all of her hate to burn him to ash in that very moment. But it didn't.

"Jaheira!" she abruptly hissed. "She can help!" She could heal Imoen. "Go get her!" Evelyn knew she could fix this somehow – just like she had before.

But the other shook his head. "She will be dead before then." He gestured back toward the dying woman in Evelyn's arms. "And, lest you forget, the half-Elf is hardly able to heal herself at the moment. What good do you think she could do?"

Her raven locks whipping back about, Eve cried out anew as Imoen's eyes began to flutter, slowly closing. She felt a wave of despair wash over her, drowning out all else. And then it was gone … and there was only anger.

Evelyn tore out the arrow with a shrill roar, whipping it away into the darkness. Then she forced her hands into the other woman's stomach, tearing away at her tunic to reach the bloodied flesh beneath, and pressed down on the hole she found there, hard. _Please_, she wailed silently in her head, willing whatever gods might listen to give her the strength and power that Jaheira had had. The stupidity of it all was so very far beyond her.

"Stop this foolishness now, girl!" The ranger reached down and tried to tear her away, but she freed herself in an instant, nearly breaking his wrist. He pulled back with an angry grunt and she returned to her dying best friend.

_Please …_

"She is dead!" he growled at her. "Now–"

_You will learn …_

The thought suddenly came to her, from far away it seemed, echoing dully inside her empty mind. And then she hurled it angrily away.

Something shifted inside her – something that seemed to uncoil from within. And then that same feeling she had awoken with back in the Nashkel Inn exploded through her, burning away all thought and feeling. There was no light. There was no sound. Only power. Without knowing just what it was that she did, she forced it all into Imoen.

The other woman went rigid in her arms with a gasp, not opening her eyes but arching her back so suddenly that Evelyn was sure it would break. The wound closed so quickly that the blood staining her clothes seemed out of place. And then Imoen went limp.

But her chest rose and fell steadily.

"How …," Kivan uttered incredulously above her shoulder, "you spoke not a word …"

Evelyn merely stared, silent and numb all over. And then she let her friend down slowly to the ground. All that mattered then was that she was still alive. Evelyn didn't dare think about anything else.

The ranger abruptly snatched up her hand anew, but she didn't bother to stop him this time. She merely let it hang limp as he scrutinized it quickly beneath his eyes. She briefly wondered if he'd find anything.

He looked suddenly to her – she could feel the weight of those eyes even without taking her own away from Imoen. "You are no paladin," he told her, almost angrily. But then his voice fell low. "But you are touched by some god."

Something sounded suddenly on the other side of the small cavern, boots scuffling on stone in the dark. Kivan's bow was drawn and readied so fast that his hands seemed to blur in her eyes as Evelyn looked up, startled. An arrow hurtled away into the gloom after whatever had made the sound, but it scored only stone.

The Elf muttered what sounded like an oath but no word Evelyn had ever heard, and turned back to her. "Their leader, I would imagine," he grunted. "And a man if my eyes do not miss." He lowered his bow. "It seems his plan to hold us here has failed."

Evelyn stood, taking her staff in one hand and the torch in the other. It was nearly burnt out. Then she started forward, pushing past the ranger and on after the man who had fled.

"What are you doing?" the Elf demanded instantly, hauling her back by the arm.

She glared burning hate up at him. But it was not for him. "If he is the one behind all of this then he is the reason Imoen just nearly died." Her voice was chilling, even to her own ears. "And I am going to make him _pay_ …" She drew out those words, so that there was no mistaking just what she would do. Their bloodlust was beyond her.

The ranger let her go, his voice soft and quiet. She had not wanted to break his arm. "It is too dangerous yet," he told her. "We do not know how deep these tunnels run or what traps might lie ahead. And the girl still needs help."

Evelyn let her eyes fall back down to her best friend and felt a moment's lapse in her fury. She couldn't bear to leave the other woman's side again. But she had to. She had made a promise … and no one else was getting hurt.

"Take her back to Jaheira and Khalid," she told the other. They had left the two half-Elves behind, Khalid refusing to leave his wife's side until she had awoken again. Imoen would be safe there.

"And what about you?" Kivan called after her as she began striding purposefully away once more. "You cannot go alone."

"I can take care of myself," she muttered without stopping, her cold voice full of venom and too soft to hear. "I'll finish this."

She did not look back.


	15. Chapter 2 A Fool's Errand

_**A Fool's Errand**_

The kobold yipped as its feet were suddenly swept out from under it, and then silenced abruptly as Evelyn's staff crushed its skull. The last little beast made no sound as she snapped its neck in her hands. It was not something Jondalar had taught her, but she had easily learned in those tunnels.

The torch lay dead at the bottom of the stagnant pool that surrounded the small island of stone she now found herself upon, used at the last to startle the three kobolds she had just killed. Only one other had barred her path so far, along with an arsenal of wire-triggered bolts that had nearly cut her to pieces. She hardly needed the torch anymore, though. Dim lanterns dotted the walls of the large cavern all around her.

A massive mound of rock rose up before and above her, joining stone roof and floor together. The kobolds had been guarding it – or rather the large dark hole that served as an entrance into it – and she flattened herself up against the rock. There was light on the other side of that opening, and she was sure that she was nearing the end of the trail. Nothing was going to stop her.

She ducked inside quickly, ready for anything. Four kobolds pointing bows and swords at an Elf, however, was not quite one of them.

One of the kobolds was dead before the others even knew she was there. Charging soundlessly across the rock that separated them, she nearly clove that one's head off its shoulders with the force of her blow. The next only had time enough to turn toward her before the staff swung back around and took it in the chest. The scaly little beast hurtled away into the chamber with a silent howl.

The caverns that sprawled about blurred in her eyes as she felled the next two, one nearly gutting her with a small blade while the other narrowly missed her shoulder with a bow fired far too close. She cut them down without a second thought.

Evelyn stilled at the last, turning her attention then to the handsome young Elf that watched her with wide eyes. She was sure that he was not the one Kivan had seen earlier, though – their leader – or else the kobolds would not have been keeping him at arms length, bound, and under guard. It could always be a trap, she reminded herself. But she dismissed the thought just as quickly. He hardly looked like someone to consort with little lizard beasts and try to kill others. Still, she kept Fuller's dagger close at hand as she cut his bonds.

"I thank you for my freedom, friend," he told her in a musical, lilting voice that sounded strangely despondent as he flexed his newly freed hands, "for I have languished here in this _dis_mal hole for far too long."

Something sounded elsewhere in the maze of stone walls that filled the cavern, and Evelyn's head twisted away instantly toward it, her senses piqued. It was not kobolds, she didn't think. It was _him_. It must be.

"It was unbearable," the Elf continued, straightening his high-collared, maroon robes, "waking each morn to the mud and rock instead of the rising sun." He brushed at the dust and dirt staining his clothes, but there was little hope of making the soiled material any more presentable. "Five and eighty days are far too long for one of the fair folk to live as a Dwarf."

"Stay here," she ordered softly, twisting briefly back around to face him before hefting her staff in hand and moving away. She had the scent, and she was not about to delay her vengeance any more. The Elf caught her up instantly, however.

"If you are an enemy of Mulahey I would join your cause," he offered hurriedly, and then fell back a step when her eyes turned back upon him. She could only imagine the dark bloodlust that filled them yet. "Hopeless though it is," the other added tentatively at the last.

"Who are you?" she demanded, keeping her voice low. She could hardly know how trustworthy a bound Elf found deep within the earth could be, and she had no time to find out. Every moment wasted was another moment Imoen's would-be murderer still breathed.

"I am Xan," the Elven man told her in that same melodious, yet melancholic voice, "a Greycloak of Evereska, and as proficient in the ways of magic as any man can be."

The title sounded almost as if it deserved a flourished bow, but the other seemed almost to slouch wearily instead. If he had truly been a prisoner there for eighty-five days, though, Evelyn did not doubt that he would.

She looked back toward where she thought the sound had come from, and only set her jaw firmly when she heard it again. Someone was there, she knew, and she did not doubt it was the one she had come for. She was going to _bury_ him in his own hole.

"Mulahey?" she whispered over her shoulder as she pressed herself up against the stone wall and inched forward toward its edge. The cave came to an end, and the sparse lanterns that hung along the walls illuminated several others opening up ahead. They all seemed joined together in that larger stone enclave.

"An evil cleric of the god Cyric," he spoke softly back, seeming to finally care somewhat for the quiet she needed then. "And strong in his arts."

Evelyn snuck one eye past the wall to see, taking in the small cave that gaped just beyond it. She caught only a glimpse before she ducked back behind stone, but there were no kobolds in sight. The cave ahead was furnished with all manner of pillows and some furniture, though, from what she could see. And, odd as it was, she did not doubt it was where her murderer had fled.

She turned back to the Elf, opening her mouth to tell him to stay once more, but he spoke first. "You look no better off than I," he murmured somberly, "but my appreciation for my liberty bids me add my spells to your cause." He looked beyond her a moment, his dark eyes toward the lavish chamber beyond. "Shall we face the impossible together?"

She gave him a hard eye, doubtful. But he did not waver in that moment. And she did not care whether he could truly do magic or not, just so long as _she_ was the one who took this Mulahey. She nodded without further word.

"Follow me."

She darted out into the passage and made for the furnished cave without pause, sweeping inside and over woven carpets thrown haphazardly across the dusty earth. There was a man there, on his knees and grunting under his breath something unintelligible before a crude altar. She had a dagger at his throat from behind before he could even think to move.

"Mulahey," she breathed.

"What?" the man grunted in surprise, his lank, greasy hair all too close to Evelyn's face. "How did you get in here?"

"Move," she hissed in his ear, "and you're dead!"

He stilled abruptly. "Tazok must have dispatched you," he growled back over his shoulder in a gravelly voice, "and my traitorous kobolds let you pass, didn't they? I knew I could not trust them!" He began to quiver in rage, or fear, or both. "You have obviously been sent to kill me!" he rumbled on. "By Cyric, not a measure of ore leaves this mine unspoiled and I am still to be executed?! I'll not lose my head over this!"

_Tazok ..._ her thoughts fluttered in uncertainty for a moment, but then her anger sliced right back through them like a hot knife.

"You'll lose a lot more than that if you don't tell me why you're down here!" she breathed with venom.

"Tazok is unfair," he seemed to whine on in that deep voice, "I have no desire to cheat him, or thee! My letters will show, they are in that chest," he gestured slightly with his unkempt head. "Take them, take them and Tazok will see!"

Xan pressed past her toward the priest's chest, reaching down to open it without a word. But then Mulahey's voice suddenly boomed.

"YOU!"

All of a sudden Evelyn felt herself hauled upward into the air and tossed like a sack across to the other side of the chamber. Several pillows broke her fall, but she still lay there for a moment, sucking air back into her chest. She had lost her dagger in the flight, and her staff clattered away across the carpets.

The priest was standing, and then Xan was tumbling aside as well as Mulahey's stout arm swept him easily aside. He turned after her then, his face a cruel and twisted expanse of scarred and discolored flesh. She would have gasped at the inhuman and yet all too familiar sight of it had she not already been desperately doing just that. The nostrils of his impossibly wide nose flared angrily.

"So!" he bellowed, "Tazok did not send thee?" He reached down quickly and snatched free a wicked looking morning star from the loop at his belt. "Then thou art dead," he rumbled, tilting his head back to shout. "Help, my minions, HEEELLLPPP!!"

A familiar yipping filled the air just as Evelyn regained her feet, snatching up the ashwood and thrusting it before her. Mulahey rounded on the Elf as he pulled himself back up from the ground, but there was nothing Eve could do for him just then. Kobolds suddenly came pouring into the cave.

"I'll not let thee live this time, little Elf!"

Three of the scaly beasts came at Evelyn in a rush, slender blades bared in the lamplight. She was only thankful that she had seen no bows amongst them as she whirled the staff around to take two off their feet. The third ducked and leapt at her. Her boot took it in the face.

More kobolds leapt for her, evading her staff as it swept back and around and forth when they could, and falling, broken, when they could not. She kept them back with ease for only a few moments, but there were just too many. She was being overwhelmed.

And then she saw them – fleshless shapes ambling toward her from the shadows. Red eyes glared out at her from vacant skulls, nothing but bones tearing through the mass of scaly bodies to reach the raven-haired woman in their midst. They hardly cared what got in their way … bony hands clawed it all aside.

The kobolds had encircled her, each making a desperate lunge toward her when they thought her staff was too distracted with the others. Wood, hands, and feet – she bashed another's skull with her own – they all struck scaly flesh as her blows became more and more desperate to keep those little claws and blades and teeth from finding purchase. Some of them did, though, but she couldn't feel it. She felt herself slowly drowning in that tide.

She only caught a glimpse of the Elf and Mulahey before she went under. Xan had no weapon and seemed as if he were already dead in light of the spiked ball that kept swinging for his head. Evelyn suddenly felt so very foolish as she waited for him to fall, scaly claws pulling her under.

The kobolds suddenly fell back from her with angry, fearful barking, and she caught her breath in relief. But then something grabbed at her leg, and she felt cold bone trying to crush her own.

She screamed as she heard bone start to break, and then her other leg was sweeping around to smash through red-eyed skull. Leaping to her feet, she nearly fell back down again as the skeletal creatures surrounded her, her right leg numb and useless. One of those leering skulls raised its clawed hands to snatch her. She slammed a fist right through it.

Light suddenly exploded through the cavern, washing everything in blue. Evelyn could only throw herself aside before more bony hands reached out to take her, blinking away brightness until it faded. When she twisted around on the ground to find just what had caused it, she could only see the Elf still standing before the priest, a gleaming blue sword within his hand. It met the spiked ball of Mulahey's morning star, and clove it in two.

Evelyn leaped to her feet, renewed vigor suffusing her at that sight. She snatched up the ashwood staff from where it had fallen on the ground and swept it through two more of skeletons, rotting bone bursting as wood tore through. Her leg still throbbed, and it would not hold her weight, but she ignored it. Mulahey was hers … and hers alone.

The skeletons were slow, and could hardly stop her once her staff was in hand and careening through their midst. Bones littered the floor in moldy heaps before she was finally through.

And then the kobolds came back, snapping at her with renewed ferocity at the destruction of the unholy monsters that had frightened them away. But she was ready for them this time. And they did not have the numbers they had had before. Only a handful survived to flee.

Evelyn found Imoen's would-be murderer and the Elf soon enough. Xan still thrust and jabbed with that gleaming sword, while Mulahey kept it barely at bay with what remained of his hafted weapon. Each was shouting words at the other in turn, words she could hardly begin to understand, while vivid light flashed in their fingertips only to be flung vengefully toward the other. Neither of them seemed to gain much purchase with their magicks, though, and the grim and somber cast to Xan's face contrasted fiercely with the enraged priest's.

Then Mulahey roared, ducking beneath a swing of the Elf's gleaming sword and abruptly shouldering him in the chest. The mage sailed back into the air without breath enough for a sound.

Eve was moving then. But the priest was already grunting some alien words anew as he stared after the fallen Elf. Mulahey suddenly dropped the morning star, and then light flashed within his hands. As the raven-haired woman reached him, a glowing hammer took shape there in his grasp.

The staff swept about instantly for the priest's head, cracking loudly over his skull. He grunted, stumbled forward, and then turned. She took him twice more at the wrist and the side of the head before he finally brought his ghostly weapon to bear upon her.

She could see through his hammer as if it was not there, but it struck with all his force behind it as if made of stone. He was far stronger than she, and it was all she could do to keep most of those blows from breaking bones and flesh. Her limp leg hardly helped any either. But she was faster, she knew, and her resolve turned all the fiercer as she remembered her best friend dying in her arms.

She howled of a sudden and scored a thundering blow across his skull, causing him to stumble back. He growled, pressed forward, and then abruptly stopped in his tracks. Gleaming blue steel blossomed in his chest, rending chain links. His twisted face went slack. And then the ghostly hammer vanished, and he fell.

Xan put a boot to the dead man's back, and pulled his sword free. Evelyn only stood, and stared.

"His quest," the Elf breathed, "was vain."

She looked at him then, incredulous, and suddenly indignant at that bemoaning voice. "He was _mine_," she hissed at him, stabbing a finger to her chest. He seemed not to care.

"However ineffective our actions might be," he drawled on, "this one, at least, will trouble the world no longer."

She took an angry step toward him, but then came up short as her head suddenly began to swim. She pressed a hand to her forehead, nearly stumbling backward. She felt cold all over, and sweat ran freely down the sides of her face.

"Are you alright?" a voice buzzed in her ears. She barely heard it. Her eyes shut, keeping them open too much for her to bear. Everything went mute. She couldn't feel anything anymore.

_I'm dying_ ... she snatched at the despairing thought as the rest all scattered away from her. _How?_ … She felt herself falling. Her whole body seemed to just shut down.

_No_ …

And then there was nothing.


	16. Chapter 3 Out from the Mines

_**Out from the Mines**_

Evelyn was startled out of sleep with a chill, only to feel the night warm and calm about her. She hugged herself tight, but it didn't help. The feeling seemed to come from within. It was as though someone had walked across her grave … and, for a moment, she wondered if it was her. With that thought, the ground beneath her suddenly opened, and she was swept away into the dark.

Light returned abruptly, but it wasn't comforting. Before her lay the empty mines of Nashkel, littered with the bodies of men and kobolds alike. She moved through stone and rock, descending deeper and deeper, until she was suddenly back within the priest's furnished chamber once more. Everything lay still, and silent.

Something caught her eye, and she looked down to the ground, finding a familiar form huddled there against the earth. The cavern blurred as she moved, but then she was staring down at her own face, pale and lifeless. She might have screamed at that, had she felt any breath in her lungs. But she only stood there, feeling lighter than air and insubstantial instead.

She turned away, and a bloated figure came into view. Mulahey, in no better shape than she had left him, stood motionless before her.

She stared at him; stared through him. His bloodied corpse lay just beyond him, just where he had fallen. He was as much a ghost as she.

"Am I dead?" she heard her own voice then drift out into the ether.

The priest did not answer her though. His dead black eyes were fixed firmly on her, but they seemed no different than that of any other corpse, not really staring at anything at all. Somehow, though, they glinted with rage and, had that creature breath, she was sure it would be hurling curses.

A dagger of bone was there then, hovering just before Mulahey's broad chest where his chain shirt had been broken. It was still and somehow more distinct than anything else in that place. She stared at it for several long moments, and then at the dead priest. They both seemed to call to her … and then she knew just what it was that she was meant to do.

One moment she stood where she had been, staring at that phantom, and then the next she was just before him, clutching the dagger of bone in hand. It burned white hot in her grasp, but she did not drop it. It did not sear flesh. There was no flesh to sear. What it did mark, though, she could feel but not know.

"You tried to kill Imoen," she hissed at the dead priest through clenched teeth, not making a sound and filling the cavern with it both. "You deserved to die!"

Those eyes did not see her, but she knew that the other could hear her nonetheless. Another had taken the priest's life, but now it was her place to finish it. He waited for that death beyond death, and knew no hope.

The blade sang to her blood. It scorched her soul. She felt the other begin to whither and fade even as it pressed into his ghostly flesh. And then something pulled her back.

She tore herself away with what would have been a gasp had she lungs to breath, suddenly cold all over. The dagger fell from her grasp in an instant, clattering with a deafening roar to the stone below. She looked up, and saw Gorion.

The old man did not move, did not speak, but only stared. She felt whatever it was that had come over her recoil angrily at the sight of him. And part of her almost wanted to snatch up the dagger to vanquish_ him_ instead. But she forced it back instantly, horrified beyond all rational thought. It subsided, slowly … too slowly. When she looked back, he was gone.

Mulahey was before her again then, and suddenly that hate for him rekindled tenfold. "No!" she shrieked in rage, leaping for his throat. Her hands closed around that creature's neck … and he faded.

She stared at where he had been, cold, and numb, though she could hardly be sure of anything she felt in that place. The priest's eyes had come to life for a brief moment just before he faded, surprise, and relief, shining bright there within. That sight began to gnaw at her, taunting her with the strange hollowness she now felt instead of the satisfaction for which she had hoped. But Imoen's would-be murderer was dead … and that was enough. For now.

She looked down to her own corpse, Mulahey's having faded away. Its eyes were closed now, and she could see color in those cheeks. Its chest rose and fell. And then she felt herself being pulled towards it.

Something sounded behind her, though, and she turned. The lone dagger she had dropped had become five – a skeletal set of claws that now hovered before her. The pull from her body became desperate.

A single talon extended then, pressing against her chest as a hollow voice chilled the air. "You should use the tools you are given." It traced a line of ichor on her tunic, increasing in pressure. "Listen to what is bred in the bone."

The pull became insistent, but she ignored it for a moment, intent upon the voice instead. She had heard it once before, she was sure of it. But she did not know where. But she remembered … Gorion's dead eyes smiling at her …

She tore herself away in an instant, not daring to heed that voice any longer, nor face those claws. A cry rose from the depths around her then, deafening and terrible. The stone cavern around her shook with the very anger of it, even as she felt herself begin to fade away. And then there was a flash of motion, as the daggers of bone launched themselves through the air toward her.

_You … WILL …Learn!_

She felt them slice deep into her ghostly heart.

Evelyn bolted upright with a scream, the voice still ringing in her head long after it should have faded. She grabbed at her skull, howling and determined to tear whatever it was out. But then hands were pulling her own away and forcing her back down.

"Eve, Eve!" Imoen was yelling over her. "It's okay!"

She stopped abruptly, breathing raggedly as she tried to blink away cold sweat from her eyes and focus on those around her. Imoen crouched down at her one side, and Jaheira the other. Khalid and Kivan stood just beyond them. The furnished cavern about had not changed.

She looked aside … only to see Mulahey's corpse just where it had been. Of the dead priest's ghost … there was no sign.

Jaheira had her chin firmly in one hand then, forcing her back toward the other woman. The druid pursed her lips as she looked her quickly over, staring deep into her wild eyes, and then released her.

"You are exhausted," the older woman stated, "but I do not think you are seriously injured." She stood.

"My leg," Evelyn started to say, but moved it without thinking, feeling no pain at all. She tested it briefly, but there was nothing.

It was just then that she released that, though blood still stained her clothes, all those wounds that the kobolds had rent within her, seemed to have vanished. There was not a scratch on her anymore.

"What is wrong with it?" Jaheira demanded.

"Nothing … nothing."

The other gave her a doubtful look, but let it pass.

The two women helped pull her up, though it took a moment for her to steady herself there on her feet. She still felt cold, and numb, but she was alive. And she was beginning to wonder if those dreams were really nothing more than dreams. She pressed a hand gently to her heart.

"Eve," Imoen sighed in relief, squeezing her best friend tightly before letting her go.

"You're alright …" Evelyn choked back a sob at the sight of her. She could hardly help a few tears, even as she smiled broadly back at the other.

"Yep." Imoen reached down and pulled up her tunic at the waist, revealing unbroken flesh beneath. "See?" she pointed to where the arrow had pierced her, the memory all too fresh and vivid in Evelyn's mind. "All better now! Jaheira healed me."

Eve grabbed at the other woman quickly once more, hugging her tight. She never wanted to see blood on those gaudy pink clothes _ever_ again.

Jaheira was waiting for her when she finally summoned the courage to break away, fixing her with a hard eye. "That was a very foolish thing to do," the older woman told her then. Evelyn met her gaze, but said nothing. She had done what she had come down there to do and that was all that mattered. "You could have been killed," the other added more firmly.

"She could have been killed at any time down here," the ranger muttered from behind. "But the half-breed is right. I told her as much," he added with a gesture toward Evelyn.

Jaheira did not spare him a reproving look in turn. "And still you let her go."

The Elf's face only twisted in irritation as he turned away.

"I am not her nurse-maid," he grunted, moving quickly away and out from the chamber to the dark tunnels beyond. He was gone without another word. Evelyn glared daggers at his back until he was.

The half-Elven woman stared after Kivan for several long moments. "What of the Elf?" she asked suddenly. "He said he was a prisoner here and that you freed him. He did not know your name and I have enough pure-blooded fools to deal with already. Do you trust him?" Her hard eyes were back on Eve once more.

"He killed the priest," she lied. "The one who was responsible for all of this. Mulahey."

"He said as much." The other woman nodded. "He told us that it was just afterward that you fell."

Xan stood off to one side, sparing them only an infrequent and seemingly disinterested eye. He cradled a sheath in his hands, a silver hilt poking out from its depths. Eve had no doubt that that strange blue sword rested within.

"It was some time before we could find you in this dark," the older woman continued, "though you certainly did leave an obvious enough trail. It seems he did not leave you for dead at least."

The Elven mage seemed to catch eye of them then, giving both a doubtful look for whatever words he had heard. They both ignored him.

"He said he was a gray cloak," Evelyn told the other after a moment, "something from a place called Evereska." The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Eve could not place it. It could have been from any number of books and lessons that she had tried to ignore back in Candlekeep.

"Ah," Jaheira canted her head, giving the Elf another look. But before Evelyn could ask her just what that might mean, the ranger burst back into the cave.

"We must leave!" he barked at them. "Now!"

He rounded instantly back about and fled from sight, bow in hand.

Jaheira spared Evelyn one final, unreadable look before nodding toward her husband. Twin scimitars slipped free instantly as the half-Elven warrior darted past and after the ranger.

"What's going on?" Imoen asked, eyeing them curiously. The Elven mage hefted the sheath in his hands and strode after the others, a grim cast to his face.

"We shall see," Jaheira said simply.

"Kobolds," the ranger told them, back outside the cave. "Many of them." He was pressed back against the stone wall of the passage that led back up from those depths – the only one, as Eve remembered.

"But we k-killed their leader."

"Yes," the ranger agreed, crouching low. "But still they are coming."

"And hardly hiding that fact," Jaheira added, pursing her lips. The shrill and angry barking that echoed down the tunnels toward them did not betray her words.

Kivan drew an arrow to the string. "Is there another way out?" he asked calmly, eyes fixed and unwavering on the gloom ahead.

"I believe so," the Elven mage broke in tentatively then. "The kobolds did not _all_ enter through this passage," he continued after a moment. "As I recall …"

The ranger stood.

"Show us."

"I do not like it."

The half-Elven woman peered down the dim passage, the torches that had lined the walls having all but died. Where Evelyn had sent their keeper, he would not need them anymore.

"It will hardly matter in a few more moments," the ranger chided from behind, his bow drawn and readied in the other direction. "We must move. Now!"

"This might very well be another trap," the druid continued. "They are usually much less obvious in their attacks."

Evelyn hardly needed the ranger's ears to hear the mass of kobolds coming just then. Their yipping, barking, and howling filled the gloom all around them. It was no less than an army, it seemed – all the rest that stalked those tunnels that they had missed. But she wasn't afraid. Something seemed to pulse softly but insistently inside her instead, calling for more blood. She looked down to her hands quickly, feeling them itch. A red glow seemed to surround them then. But then it was gone.

"They are trying to frighten us," the ranger acceded. "But there is little choice. There are too many."

The little moat of fetid water lay still and undisturbed to one side of the curving passage ahead, jagged stone to the other. There was little to be seen in the distance, either promising or disheartening.

"Decide!" Kivan barked at the other.

Finally, Jaheira nodded. "We go on."

Khalid was charging forward almost instantly, scimitars whipping about and before him, ready for anything that might lie ahead. The ranger stood, but held back, holding at their rear with his bow drawn. Almost as if on cue, a kobold leapt into sight behind, howling its anger back toward the others that were no doubt close. An arrow took it in the throat before it could take another step.

"Go!" the ranger growled over one shoulder at them. "Now!"

Evelyn turned to flee with the others, but she was the only one left. They had already vanished ahead into the gloom. Another arrow flew, and another kobold fell.

Kivan snatched at her arm, catching it in an iron vice. "Now!" he hissed in her ear, and then hauled her along in his wake.

The tunnel began to slope upward beneath their feet, dust and rock falling loose as Evelyn desperately tried to keep her footing. She fell only once, the ranger sparing barely a moment before pulling her bodily back up. Arrows struck in the stone behind, splintering and bouncing back into the dark. She could hear cursing somewhere ahead, and a shrill warbling as steel rang loudly. The barking behind only grew louder and more insistent.

Light flashed ahead in the tunnel, and then blue steel was cutting through the gloom. The ranger slowed as they came up fast upon the others, only Xan pausing while the rest hurried on. "Slimes," he uttered simply before re-sheathing his sword. Evelyn looked down at his feet, seeing the viscous ooze there, but she hardly knew what it was or why he had seen fit to cleave it in two. And the howling behind them gave her no time to ask.

They were bounding forward once more, not even daring to look behind. Arrows continued to hiss around them, but even Kivan had disdained his bow for their flight.

A black-feathered shaft snagged in Evelyn's hair, twisting her head violently about. She tore it free and turned back, only to nearly run over Imoen.

"Light!" the other woman cried out, pointing ahead. A small tunnel wound its way upward through a face of rock, loose stones scattered about and spilling down into the tunnel as someone had already started making their way through.

"Hurry!" Jaheira's voice echoed back down to them after a moment. But the others had hardly waited. Khalid had grabbed Imoen by the collar and nearly tossed her all the way up. Then only the two Elves, Khalid, and Evelyn were left.

"Go!" the dark-haired woman shouted at Xan. But the half-Elven warrior had her bodily in a grip as well in the next moment, forcing her up after Imoen. Before she could protest, she was already halfway up the hole.

She cast one futile glance back down toward the others, having just enough time to see Kivan begin firing into the dark anew, Khalid taking up position at his side while Xan hurled light from his hands. An arrow exploded into the tunnel just behind her.

The Elven mage ducked his head inside after her, and she was finally forced to turn around. Scrabbling up the stone with her staff in one hand, more often than not having them come loose and tumble away beneath her, she could only vaguely make out the passage as she climbed, the light shining down from above blinding to her eyes. But then a hand took her by the back of the scalp, and another by the leather shoulder of her jerkin, and she was being hauled up into the daylight.

Evelyn tumbled out and over across dry earth and stone, blinking away blindness. She felt her friend's familiar hands helping her to her feet, and then she could see, her eyes fixing on the small opening in a smooth stone outcropping from where she could still hear barking and stones flying loose.

Xan appeared in another moment, thrusting himself free from the crumbling little passage. It was barely large enough for any of them to fit through, she saw now, but she doubted it was as difficult for the kobolds. How Mulahey had ever gotten through it – if he had – she could hardly know.

She stood there, waiting, and listening anxiously to the clamor below. She could hear nothing of the two men still down there, but the kobolds continued to yip and howl. She tried to move forward to see – to help – but Jaheira forced her back. In another moment, Khalid's head was poking through.

She pushed forward then, grabbing hold of the one of the man's while his wife took the other. They both heaved, and then the half-Elven warrior was leaping over the edge, dragging the ranger along behind him with an arm. They both collapsed to the dusty earth below.

Jaheira wasted not a moment, rounding instantly upon the opening and thrusting a hand toward it. She muttered some words beneath her breath, and then vines suddenly began to sprout out from the ground all about, climbing up along the stone. In another moment they had completely enclosed the passage.

She turned back around toward the others, taking several deep breaths. Then she straightened, took them all in briefly, and canted her head briskly.

"Shall we?"


	17. Chapter 3 A Toast

_**A Toast**_

The sound of wooden spoon tapping insistently against metal tankard broke through the clamor, lifting high towards the eaves. Every voice quieted down at once, though with the underlying intent of striking it all back up in an instant. But it was enough, for a moment.

"I propose a toast!"

Berrun Ghastkill continued to hold his tankard aloft, though he let the wooden spoon clatter down to the table beneath. Burly and bearded men were gathered all around the common room of the Nashkel Inn, as many seated as standing. A cittern player and another man with a flute stood in the corner, though they had let their instruments go silent at the mayor's call.

"To Jaheira." The weathered old Elf thrust his cup then down toward the table he had been seated at. The half-Elven woman smiled politely back up at him, raising her own briefly. "And Khalid, and all their faithful companions seated before me tonight," he continued with a broad gesture. "Their valor and courage has brought light back to our fair town … and, more importantly," he waggled a finger, "business." He was answered by no few stomped feet and gruff cheers from the miners gathered about.

"I believe we are all aware of the troubles that plague the Sword Coast in these dark days," the mayor began anew with dramatic flair. "Bandits stalk our roads! Ore crumbles to dust in our hands! And demons infest the very livelihood of our existence …" He shook his head vigorously, scattering lank gray locks about. "If you cannot join me in honoring these fellows for liberating our homes from misfortune, then join me in praising their names for showing us that such evils _can_ be beaten back! Good people can prevail, and will! Nashkel, and Amn, stand through demons, ore, and bandits all! And she stands _STRONG_!" Nearly roaring the last aloud, his audience did not disappoint in erupting in a fury of shouting that the gods themselves could not have ignored. From the sound of it, the whole lot of them could have cleared the mines of demons _and_ beaten back all the bandits from there to Baldur's Gate with little more than sticks in their hands. But then the mayor was calling for quiet once more, and they each quickly obeyed.

"Now," the old Elf continued more softly, "I would just like to extend my humble gratitude once more to these heroes of Nashkel … and to promise them that, no matter the time of day or night, no matter the evil that might snap at their heels … you will all," he took all of them in with his gaze, "be welcome here in Nashkel, free of expense … or worry!"

"But … Berrun you can't just –"

"Oh, quiet down, Hernan!" the mayor shouted back at the fat innkeeper. "Their rooms are on me. Drink up!" he cried aloud then, sweeping his tankard up and around. "They're all on me!"

A fierce and eager round of applause and laughter drowned out everything else as Berrun Ghastkill sat back down. In mere moments the celebration had begun anew, flute and cittern piercing softly through the clamor.

"You must not excite yourself so, Berrun," Jaheira chided quietly from across the table, her face hard once more. The old man was pressing a withered hand firmly into his chest, and looking ashen.

"These men need courage, Jaheira," the other returned in an almost beaten tone that belied his optimism of mere moments before. He drained his cup quickly, clapping it down to the table. "And I will give what little I have to them."

Evelyn ignored the rest of what was said, not caring much for the revelry that roared around her. She had donned her cloak once more, the hood drawn up and tight about her face. But still she felt too exposed. And she hardly felt like celebrating.

Kivan was watching her from across the table, his face unreadable, but she tried to ignore it. He seemed to care about as much for those festivities as her, but he had not moved to leave yet. Imoen could not have been happier.

"I trust you will all be staying at least one more night here in the town?" Berrun voiced aloud then. Jaheira nodded without a word. "Good." He stood. "My offer stands. And I hope that you will not begrudge me retiring early this evening."

"Of course not, Berrun," the half-Elven woman told him softly.

"Orland!" the mayor called back into the room. Within moments a smartly dressed man was at his side. "It is time to be off." And with that, he was easing his way through the throngs of reveling men toward the door without further word.

Jaheira stared after the mayor for several moments before giving her husband an unreadable look. Evelyn was beginning to grow suspicious of it – their little looks. She never knew what they meant, and they seemed to mean a great deal. But it was hardly her place to ask.

"Isn't this great, Eve?" Imoen chirped at her side, looking excitedly around the common room. "We're heroes! Just like in the stories back home!"

Evelyn paused long enough in her morbid thinking to spare the other woman a smile she did not feel, and then Imoen was bounding to her feet. She bounced away into the room, determined to dance or carouse or whatever, but her friend stayed behind. Eve did not regret being unable to join in so much as she did being unable to enjoy anything, if only for her friend. The pink-haired woman would cast her worried looks every so often, even though she tried to hide it.

"This is not over," Kivan was saying quietly. She looked up at him.

"What isn't?"

He cast a wary look about the inn before leaning in closer.

"This shortage of iron is too widespread to be the doing of one bumbling half-Orc alone," he continued, "no matter how many kobolds he employed to the task."

She gave him a dubious eye. "What do you mean?"

"This Mulahey," he lowered his voice even further, "the druid found letters in a chest of his keeping. They relayed his orders to poison the ore in the mines.

"It seems that your half-breed guardians and I share the same enemy." He took a draught from the tankard before him. "Tazok is the one who sent the priest to the mines."

"I know," she told him simply.

"Then it does not matter whether you chose to follow them or help me," the ranger went on. "Both paths will lead you to the same end."

She looked at him then, studying him intently for any sign of just what he might be thinking. But his face was a mask, and unreadable as stone. She stood.

"It tastes bitter, does it not?" he called after her as she strode away, standing himself. She stopped, and turned back around.

"Revenge," he continued, "it is bittersweet and not sweet at all. I can see it in your eyes. Try not to choke on it." He turned away himself and strode off into the common room, vanishing into the halls and the apartments beyond.

Evelyn stopped just outside the inn, choking back a sob and swiping at her eyes quickly. She looked up to the moon, the whole of it hanging low in the night sky. She had not looked at it in a long time. She remembered how beautiful it had been hanging just over Candlekeep.

No one was on the lone road through Nashkel just then, everyone seeming to have poured into the inn to celebrate. It was some measure of comfort to know that what they had done had made so many people so happy. She only wished that she could take some of it – any of it – for herself. But she felt barren inside. Cold, and hollow.

She started walking, not sure just where she would end up. But then the cemetery surrounding the church of Helm stretched out just to her left. And she knew. What better place for her to be than amongst the dead.

Stepping out across the grass, she found a tombstone she liked, and sat down beside it. It was a granite obelisk, smoothly carved and engraved, stretching up above her head from the earth like dagger of bleached bone toward the night sky. It reminded her all too vividly of the dream – or whatever it had been – and just what she had felt and done. _He's right_, was all she could think, as she held her head in her hands and cried. _Why is he _always_ right_ …?

Gorion had not visited her dreams of late, though they had proved bloody enough even without replaying his death over and over in her mind. Instead she saw new faces every time she went to sleep – new faces for everyone she had killed. It seemed that every step further away from her father's death had spilled yet more blood across her path, too much of it loosed by her own hands. _Maybe if I just cut them off, then it will stop_ … But she couldn't. Not yet. They had yet to crush the life out of the one who truly deserved to die more than any of the others. Until they had drunk deeply of _his _blood, she would just have to let them spill whatever they pleased. It was already far too late to stop the monster that she had become.

Some time later, she did not know how long exactly, she heard footsteps moving toward her through the grass. When she looked up, a red-headed woman stood several paces away, staring at her.

Evelyn stared right back, but the woman did not speak. "Who are you?" Eve demanded, scrubbing tears angrily from her eyes. She just wanted to be left alone for a little while longer! Was that so much to ask?

"Well, well, well," the woman finally uttered, her tone brisk and clipped. "Neira told us to expect a weeping young wreck of a girl, but it seems she was right to say that there was a little more bite to her than would seem. A little bark to go along with it too."

"Neira?" Eve breathed, uncertain of just who she spoke but not caring for the other's tone at all. She stood, slowly, and began to solemnly wish that she would never let that ashwood staff out of her sight.

"The bounty hunter scum you so luckily dispatched to the Amnish garrison the last time you were here, if you remember. You should have just killed her, you know, or else we might never have had this little encounter. But don't you worry … it's already been taken care of."

Evelyn stiffened where she stood, feeling her fists clench at her sides. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice like ice.

"Your name is Evelyn, is it not?" the woman continued over her. "Hurry up and answer. And your answer better be the truth, for your life depends upon it. My god Cyric allows me to see through _all_ falsehoods."

"You're a bounty hunter," Eve said. Her knuckles cracked loudly.

"No, you foolish girl," the other woman laughed down at her. "That poor cow _Neira_ was a bounty hunter. What I am is something far more than that."

"You should have learned something from her," Evelyn voiced darkly. "I am far more dangerous than you think." If she had never once believed that before in her life, she did then. And something insidious deep down inside of her seemed to agree.

The woman laughed deep in her throat. "Well, now. Perhaps I did."

Motion suddenly erupted all around her at once, and Eve twisted first one way and then the other, but she was just as quickly closed in. Shadows swept in from all sides, and then she was trapped. Three more women stood just beyond reach.

Fear began to creep into that dark place she had taken strength from mere moments before, and she could hardly stop it. One woman she was sure she could handle – she had before. Maybe two. But each of the four women surrounding her then were sheathed in either leathers or mail, swords, flails, maces, and daggers in hand. She had nothing, and she was alone.

"I think introductions are in order," the first woman said aloud, looking to the others. Eve could barely make out their features in the dim light, but they all seemed to be fair or red-haired and fair-eyed at least. "I am Lamalha," she continued, "and these are my sisters-in-arms – Zeela, Telka, and Maneira. And you," she stabbed a finger toward Evelyn, "are soon to be permanently interred here amongst these dead."

They each took weapons in hand, brandishing them with cold and wicked smiles toward her. There was not an ounce of pity in any of those cruel faces, she saw, but she had hardly expected any. Kivan had been right about everything.

"My companions and I have tracked you for many days and I am to give you a message," Lamalha was saying. "You and your friends are to die. Your interference with the Iron Throne may have caused some minor setbacks, but die knowing that your actions were mostly futile."

Someone leapt at her from behind first, but she was ready. Swinging around, her boot took that one in the face and sent her straight down into the grass. The next came at her with a knife, but she twisted about and in, sending an elbow into the woman's neck. Then Eve spun back about, ready for the next …

… But she didn't come. Instead she only had time enough to realize that the two other women had merely stood their chanting words at her before light suddenly flashed. Then … she couldn't move.

She struggled for several moments, growing desperate as her limbs just seemed to refuse her altogether. She stood, frozen in place, facing one of the other women. She couldn't even turn her head to see what Lamalha might be readying for her next from behind.

The red-headed leader of the four paced around then to her front, though, laughing low in her throat. "Impressive," she admitted, "but hardly worth our time. I might say you should have learned something from that fool Neira as well, girl – that you should have died quickly, and easily, while you still could." She drew suddenly close, barely more than breathing in Evelyn's ear. "I will neither make this quick, nor easy."

The two women she had taken down finally came to stand, and one of them stepped quickly up to Eve, fisting her roughly in the stomach. "Dumb chit!" She would have doubled over, gasping and in tears, but she couldn't even do that.

"Let's just bury her alive, Lamalha," one of the women suggested impatiently, the other who had been chanting. "We have more important business to attend to."

"No," the red-headed woman told the other. "We still have her companions to deal with. They must all be destroyed. Those were our orders."

"Besides," another chided, brandishing a small knife. "I want her fingers." She kissed each one of her own. "One by one."

If Evelyn could have moved, she was sure she would have been shaking uncontrollably. But all she could do was let her eyes dart wildly back and forth. And feel her heart sink.

_Not like this …_

"Now," Lamalha whistled through her teeth as she faced Evelyn once more, "what should we remove first …?"

Something bellowed, a low and terrible sound that erupted through the graveyard as each of the four women turned away in surprise. "What in Cyric's name …?"

A shape hurtled toward them out of the gloom, and one of the women was down before the others even had time to move. They reacted swiftly, though, taking weapons in hand and turning to meet that unknown threat. Evelyn could only watch, helpless, and still as stone.

The hulking shape loomed like a giant in the dark, and the women seemed somewhat less than eager to face it. One took a fearful step back, but then the thing had her by the throat, and she was suddenly hurtling through the night air. The next fell almost just as quickly. And then only Lamalha was left standing.

"Back, beast!" she howled at it. "Or by Cyric I will …"

She was lying on her back several feet away before she had time finish.

Then the beast turned toward Eve.

With one massive limb, Evelyn felt herself thrust into the air and draped over the back of the creature like a sack. Her invisible bonds seemed to come loose in that same moment, and suddenly she was screaming and pounding her fists into its thick hide to keep it from fleeing with her. It seemed to hesitate at that. Then it lifted her up, and set her back gently upon the ground. Eve could only stare up at it in wonder, and surprise.

Then, suddenly, it spoke.

"Minsc thinks so too, Boo," the beast canted its head. "But she acts like she does not want our help."

She hardly thought her eyes could go wider, but they did. Evelyn took a few steps back, uncertain and still far too unnerved from nearly having had her fingers cut off one by one to take many more chances. But the thing made no move to stop her.

"Minsc will ask," it continued in that strange accent. "Did you want us to help you?" it directed at her then. "You have much fire in your belly, so Boo thinks maybe you wanted to give these evil-doers a sound thrashing without Minsc. If that be so, then he and Boo shall leave."

"What … what are …?" she stood, aghast and disbelieving, unsure just what to make of the other. She realized all too abruptly then that it was not some beast come to tear her limb from limb, but a man, though certainly the biggest one she had ever seen. He stood at least head and shoulders above her, and a good deal more. "Who are you talking to?" she managed at the last.

"Boo," he boomed almost happily in that strange accent of his. "Say hello, Boo." He held something up before her in his hands, but she could hardly see it in that dark. There was no time for it either.

"Zeela, Maneira!" the redheaded woman cried out angrily, struggling back to her feet. "Kill him!"

Evelyn rounded upon them instantly, charging at the woman closest without another word. She recognized her as the other who had been chanting alongside Lamalha. That one saw her coming though, and brought a spiked flail head whipping about toward the darker woman's skull. Eve ducked beneath it, came quickly about, and sliced a hand into the other's throat.

She was darting away even before the woman fell, choking on the last of her life. She would not be chanting anymore.

And then another was before her, short blade stabbing forward.

The giant – Minsc – was suddenly there, wrapping his thick arms around the woman and binding her tight. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment in leaping around them both and on toward Lamalha. She had to reach her before she began chanting those words at her again. She was not going to die like that – helpless and alone. She was not.

The redheaded woman turned toward her, her bright blue eyes cold and vengeful. Evelyn quickened her pace, but there were only moments between them. She could see it in the other woman's eyes. There was fear there.

She would not be caught again.

But then that fear died.

The fourth woman leapt up in front of her, blocking her path. Eve almost ran the woman over, but instead came up short. She felt steel slide in beneath her ribs.

She looked down … everything seeming to slow for one terrible moment. But it was only to see the dagger slip free from flesh. Eve stumbled backward, gasping aloud.

And then came the blood.

The woman before her laughed, her lips twisting cruelly as she watched. And then Evelyn had the other's head in her hands. Her neck snapped almost too easily.

Lamalha took a step back, a broad-headed mace in one hand. Her face twisted angrily as she watched the dark-haired woman move toward her. Evelyn had the dead woman's dagger in hand, bloody, and ready to slice the other's throat should she chant a single word. But she supposed it didn't matter. One way or another, she was going to slice it open anyways.

And then, she stumbled. Her knees threatened to buckle. She felt her middle go numb, stopping dead in her tracks. She looked down to the wound, watching her own blood spill outward.

"Poison," the other woman said triumphantly. "Maneira always made sure her marks died slowest and most painfully of all."

Evelyn collapsed to her knees, clutching the hole in her stomach tight. Crimson stained her hands, and her lungs felt like they would burst in her chest. She didn't know what the other was talking about … this wasn't taking long at all …

Lamalha bent down over her, pushing her face close. Evelyn looked up into those terrible blue eyes.

"I'm going to make your friends _beg_ for so easy a death before I'm through …"

Her hands itched. It took her a moment to realize that it was not the blood that made it so. Instead she felt that same glow she had before, knowing, even if she did not see it, that they had begun to glow softly. She knew exactly what to do.

Lamalha tried to tear herself away as Evelyn grabbed her, though her hands merely lay flat upon the other's chest. It all happened too fast for them both, however, and something else kept the redheaded woman in place. That red glow that surrounded Eve's hands suddenly exploded, and then something was being wrenched free from the other.

Evelyn wasn't sure if Lamalha screamed … or if she did. But as she felt the other woman's life fly loose from her chest and into Eve's own, she knew that it was she that did it then. The redheaded woman's face went slack … and then she collapsed in upon herself.

Through it all, she could hear that same voice … echoing deep inside her skull … sinister, and full of promise. _Listen to what is bred in the bone_ … she felt that ichor running down her chest. _You will learn_ …

She screamed.

And she did not stop screaming for a long time.


	18. Chapter 3 Parting Ways

_**Parting Ways**_

Sometime later, Evelyn felt her back hit wood.

She was on a table, and she had stopped screaming some time ago. But every vein in her body still burned. She heard someone say something about poison; she thought it was Jaheira. And she thought she heard Imoen's voice too, so at least she was safe. Her heart still felt like it wanted to explode, though.

Later still, she finally felt the pain begin to subside. It happened slowly, and seemed to take forever. But then she was left only with a numbness, pervasive and complete.

When she finally had strength and sense enough to open her eyes, the morning sun was peeking in through the closed shutters of a window. She was in a small room, lying stretched out on a hard bed and smelling of sweat. Her clothes from the night before were damp and clinging to her. Someone had brought in her pack, though, and she changed quickly enough.

A knock came at the door soon after, and Jaheira strode in before Eve could answer. The half-Elven woman took one look at Evelyn, pursing her lips, before finally opening her mouth to speak.

"We followed your blood back to the Helmite church," she said. "I would have thought that you had learned by now not to wander alone."

Evelyn said nothing, only pulling her pack on over one shoulder and replacing her soiled cloak around both. "I'm still alive," she lied when she was done. The hollowness that she still felt inside did not speak of life.

"Barely," the older woman chided. "When that man brought you in, the poison had already rendered you senseless. And somehow you had survived your wound long enough for me to heal you, though it _should_ have been fatal."

The half-Elven woman gave Eve a scrutinizing look, but she kept her face smooth. "You should be dead, Evelyn," the other said softly after another moment, a strange mix of tenderness and concern in her voice.

"I'm not," the young woman repeated. She was still breathing at least … which was more than she could say for those three women she had killed.

Jaheira's eyes were soft for several moments longer as she studied Evelyn, but then they abruptly hardened once more. The other woman nodded. "We will be leaving soon. For Beregost."

"Beregost?" Evelyn voiced in surprise. "Why there?"

Jaheira opened her mouth to speak, but then Imoen was suddenly pushing past her and throwing her arms around her best friend.

"Eve!" she cried out in relief, pulling back only after squeezing her doubly hard. "Are you okay?"

Evelyn nodded her head, but the other woman only shook hers fiercely back. "No you're not," Imoen refuted her instantly. "What happened to you?"

Whatever hardness Eve had summoned after the past night nearly broke at the other's tone, full of only worry and fear for her best friend in that world. But then Jaheira was forcing her way back in.

"You know very well what happened to her last night, child," the older woman chided impatiently. "The Elf told us what he could from the scene at the church," she said to Evelyn then, "and the man – Minsc he said his name was – told us the rest after I had cured you."

"Minsc," Eve uttered softly, remembering. He had saved her life. And she shuddered to think just what might have happened had he not.

"Yes," Jaheira said, almost apprehensively. "He is … somewhat addled, it seems," she continued after a moment. "But he is also a Rashemi. Silvanus only knows what he is doing here."

"From Rasheman?" Imoen voiced curiously, scrunching her face up at the other woman. "Isn't that somewhere to the east? Far, far … far to the east?"

"Yes," the older woman canted her head. Then she turned away without another word, and hurried on into the hall.

Outside in the common room, a giant of a man abruptly rose to his feet at the sight of the raven-haired woman as she followed the other two out, nearly toppling the table before him. Evelyn started in surprise before realizing that he must have been the same man from the night before who had saved her life – twice it seemed. He hardly looked as if he would attack her anyways, grinning broadly down at her like that.

"Boo is overjoyed to see you well!" the man boomed happily at her. "And … Minsc too, of course." He bobbed his cleanly shaven head, tattooed with some strange round shape in purple ink down across his right eye. The rest of him was sheathed in stout, steel-braced leathers, and a massive two-edged sword was slung across his back. She might have gaped at that, but he certainly seemed big enough to wield it.

"Thank you, Minsc," she said as amicably as she could. "You saved my life." She only hoped he had not understood just what she had done to survive that night.

The giant bowed his head again, but then Imoen was forcing her way in front of Eve, granting her no further word. "Are you really from Rasheman?" the pink-haired woman asked, hardly keeping the wonder from her voice.

"Yes, Minsc is," the man answered, "though Boo has yet to see its white fields." Evelyn only paid the two half a mind.

"We should depart soon," Kivan was saying to the half-Elven woman as Eve turned towards them. "The three hunters cannot bode well. There might not have been a bounty notice on their person, but it is safe to assume that they were after the girl as were the others."

"What are you doing _here_?" Imoen was asking.

"Agreed," Jaheira canted her head. "The letter directs us next to Beregost. From there we will find our answers."

"We have traveled far to explore this land," the giant continued, "but now my charge Dynaheir has been taken from us." He clenched a massive fist angrily. "'Twas Gnolls, and once Minsc and Boo have tracked them down I will beat sense into their heads until they release her!"

Evelyn cast a glance back toward Minsc and Imoen, before returning to the others.

"I trust you will be staying with us then?" Jaheira arched an eyebrow at the ranger.

"We share the same enemy," the Elf muttered. "For now that makes us allies."

"Dynaheir?"

"Minsc's witch …" The pain of loss in his voice was palpable. "They will feel the wrath of _Minsc_ and Boo!" He shook his fist in barely contained rage once more.

"Very well then," the half-Elven woman acceded. "We will leave at once."

"They weren't bounty hunters."

Jaheira and her husband drew up short, Kivan a few steps beside them. "What?" the older woman asked.

"They weren't bounty hunters," Evelyn repeated. "And they were not only after me." She swept her gaze across each of them. "They wanted _all_ of us dead."

Jaheira's brow furrowed, but Kivan merely grunted. "So did the last bounty hunter. The bounty notice you gave me said as much."

"What bounty hunter?" the half-Elven woman demanded.

But Evelyn shook her head. "No. The four that attacked me last night were different. They told me that they had a message from whoever sent them. It had something to do with the Iron Throne."

She studied Jaheira's face carefully for several moments, as she seemed to turn the name over in her mind. But her expression was as unreadable as always. "Assassins can say many things," she told the younger woman then, "not all of it is to be believed. Especially if they were purposefully mislead by the one who employed them. Either way," she hefted her oaken staff in one hand, readjusting her pack across her shoulder, "we will find at least some of our answers in Beregost."

She began to stride past toward the door. But Evelyn did not move.

"I'm not going with you."

The half-Elven woman stopped dead in her tracks, rounding back upon the younger woman. "What?"

"I'm not going with you," Eve repeated, brushing aside the hard looks that the druid and the ranger gave her both. It took just as much courage to stare the others down as it had taken her to face the assassins last night. But she had made her decision, as hasty as it had been.

Instead, she turned aside toward Minsc.

"I'm going to help him," she declared firmly, gesturing toward the giant of a man. "He saved my life."

"Help him what?" Jaheira demanded, taking an angry step forward. "Just what could be more important than seeking out those who slew Gorion?"

Evelyn felt her courage falter somewhat at that, but she hardly relented. "Wherever he is going, it will be dangerous. He deserves something more for saving my life."

"And what about your own father?" the other persisted. "What does _he_ deserve for saving your life? To be forgotten?"

"No," Evelyn said icily, narrowing her eyes. "I am _not_ forgetting about him. But helping someone else, even for a little while, will hardly hurt him. He's already dead."

Jaheira did not ease her hard eyes boring into the younger woman like augers, but she did take a step back. "Do you plan on abandoning this quest then?" she asked simply.

"No," Eve shook her head. "But I will help _him_ for now," she waved a hand towards Minsc, who was looking from one woman to the other, seeming unsure of just what to make of all of it. "And then we will continue. You hardly need me to do whatever it is that needs to be done, Jaheira."

The older woman continued to press her with steel in her eyes. But then she relented, looking away briefly. "We can continue on without you," she conceded with a brief nod of her head, "for now. But I do not think this wise."

"But I will do it," Evelyn said. Jaheira only nodded once more, reluctantly.

"Very well then," the older woman turned away, "but Beregost–"

"No!" the ranger suddenly pushed past the other, coming mere inches away from Eve. "You said you wanted vengeance," he fumed, "now you dare turn away from it when it is almost in your grasp!" His stone-faced composure had cracked, and now he stood staring down at her with anger akin to loathing in his eyes. Evelyn only met that stare, and leveled it with an icy one of her own.

"I'm not turning away from anything," she told him evenly. "And I'm hardly keeping you from yours. Go with them," she threw a hand toward the druid and her husband. "They could use your help. And you'd be that much closer to what you want. I don't need you now."

"Well I'm going with ya, Eve," Imoen spoke up from beside the giant. Minsc looked from one to the other, and then grinned broadly.

"You would help Minsc and Boo rescue his witch?" the man rumbled. Then he laughed, deep and heartily. "This is good! Accompany us and bards will sing the deeds of Minsc and Boo … and friends!"

Evelyn opened her mouth to refuse the pink-haired woman, almost angrily. But Imoen merely raised her chin defiantly, guessing at just what her friend might say. She had hoped, if nothing else, that she could keep Imoen safe at least. Memory of the mines bit painful into the back of her head.

Kivan tore his eyes away, letting them bore into the floor of the common room instead. Evelyn only spared him a few moments' thought, however, before looking back to Jaheira.

"What will you do in Beregost?" she asked the other.

"Find this Tranzig that the priest's letters speak of," the older woman said. "He is supposedly his contact in Beregost, and the one who might lead us to his master – this Tazok."

The sound of leather creaking as Kivan clenched his fists echoed dully in the room. No one paid it any notice.

"Wait for us in Beregost then," Evelyn told her. "Once we have finished helping Minsc we will meet you there." The half-Elven woman merely nodded.

"Perhaps I might be of some assistance as well," someone broke in suddenly, tentatively. It took everyone a moment to realize that the handsome Elven man that they had rescued from the mines was still in the room with them – and still with them at all. Evelyn could not remember having heard from him since they had returned to Nashkel, though he had somehow always seemed to stay close at hand. But now he spoke to them with some purpose in his voice, as solemn as it was. "These two seem more than capable enough to attempt whatever it is they seek to do," he cast his eyes briefly toward the half-Elves. "But _you_, my young friend, could certainly use more help if you are to achieve the impossible."

Eve was shaking her head though. "No," she told him outright. Imoen was already one too many for her.

But the Elven man pressed forward, courageously, it seemed, for the demeanor he gave. "You speak of restitution owed for services rendered in saving lives," he said then. "Well then something must be given from myself," he continued after a moment, "seeing as you have saved mine."

Evelyn shook her head once more, but suddenly stopped. She could hardly hope for success if she refused the man after he had used her own words against her. She felt her frustration grow, but glanced briefly back toward Imoen and Minsc, hoping for something. The giant only seemed overjoyed at that turn of events. Imoen merely shrugged.

She turned back toward the Elven mage, and nodded. "Alright."

"Then it is settled," Jaheira declared firmly. "We should not waste any more time." As the older woman moved toward the door once more, Evelyn turned away after her.

"Wait," Kivan breathed the word from behind, repeating it a moment later when Eve did not turn. "Wait."

Reluctantly, she stopped, and turned.

"What?"

"I will go with you," the ranger said softly then, his voice sounding strained. "You will need someone able to track the land," he continued. "You will need my help."

"Fear not!" Minsc boomed. "Minsc and Boo know the way! Dynaheir will not be kept from us for long!"

The Elf's eyes turned toward the other man briefly, and then came back to Eve.

"You will need me," he told her once more.

Evelyn looked from first him to the others, settling her gaze on Jaheira for a brief moment for the other woman to give her a shrug. She turned back toward Kivan then, opening her mouth before quickly shutting it. She felt her face burn, but then let her shoulders slump. Everything was falling apart.

"Alright," she said finally.

The pain in the ranger's voice had been out of character for him, though Eve only paid it little concern. She had predicted that he would go with Jaheira and Khalid, knowing that that was his best chance for nearing his revenge. But she had been wrong. And that _did_ concern her … because she did not know why.

But there was no time for it just then. Jaheira and Khalid were leaving quickly.

"We will meet you in Beregost then," the half-Elven woman told Evelyn. "But we will not linger long, so make certain that you waste no time."

Eve only nodded, her courage of earlier now turned to frustration and anger at failure. Maybe the other saw it in her eyes. Still, she said nothing.

Jaheira hugged her close then, squeezing her tight. "Be safe, Evelyn," she whispered in the younger woman's ear. "Gorion would never let me hear the end of it if I ever let anything happen to you."

"He's dead, Jaheira," Eve shook her head slowly, tears in her eyes.

"I know, child," the other woman said, "I know. But I would not put it past his spirit to find a way."

That made Evelyn suddenly pale, and the half-Elven woman gave her a doubtful look. She dismissed it a moment later, however, and turned away.

"We will see you again in Beregost," she repeated. And then she was through the inn door.

_Or in the next world_, Evelyn thought after her. But it was too soon for that yet. She still had one thing left to do. Still … that was how monsters always ended, wasn't it? Dead …? Well, there was still one out there that was not. And she would not rest until he was.

Gorion was hardly letting her hear the end of it.


	19. Chapter 3 Over Hill and Underfoot

_**Over Hill and Underfoot**_

"How much farther is it?"

Imoen hopped a few more steps on one foot, trying desperately to massage the other through the soft leather boot. Her face twisted in dismay as she whined, nearly tripping as she hopped. She put the other foot back down quickly with a disheartened look.

"Minsc thinks a while yet," the giant rumbled from where he crouched low to the ground, sifting a hand through the earth. Gone were his hearty smiles of earlier. Now he was but grim determination. "The Gnolls' tracks are old … Minsc and Boo wasted much time in finding them again."

The ranger stood off to one side, surveying the scene about them as well. They stood in a small wooded glade, one of several spread out along the hills that sprawled east of Nashkel. They had been marching most of the day up those hills, and had only just reached their crest it seemed. Eve hoped the journey down would be somewhat shorter. Her feet were as unused to long marches as Imoen's. But she didn't dare say anything.

"Who is Boo?" the pink-haired woman whispered to her friend behind a hand as she passed. Evelyn only shook her head.

"It seems they rested here," Kivan was muttering, almost to himself. "But the Rashemi is right. These tracks are several days old."

"How many were there?" Evelyn asked.

"Twenty," he said, "maybe more." He cast another sweeping gaze across the glade. "Some lightly armored – scouts, I would imagine – the rest, heavily so."

"The one with only one eye and fur like white fields leads them," Minsc voiced slowly as he stood, his voice teeming with hate. "He is the one who took Dynaheir from Minsc, and beat him senseless. _He_ is for Minsc and Boo alone."

"These footprints are awfully big," Imoen added, prodding the beaten soil with the tip of one boot.

"They stand over seven feet tall, girl," the ranger chided.

Imoen gave him a hard look. "I knew that," she said. And then she shook her head. "Twenty of them? How are we going to stop them all?"

"There will be even more," the Elf grunted, "if they rejoin their tribe before we catch them."

"Even more?" Imoen's eyes went wide.

Kivan locked eyes with Evelyn for a brief moment before turning away. For her part, Eve said nothing.

"Against the inevitable it always helps to be prepared," Xan broke in just then, waving a hand. He muttered some words briefly, and then his fingers were sprinkling light as they weaved through the air. Imoen grinned broadly at that.

"I think we should keep moving," Evelyn said loudly after a moment, bringing everyone's eyes back toward her. Minsc nodded quickly, and then the others were gathering up their packs and readying to leave. The Rashemi's black eyes did not waver from the trail ahead.

"Minsc will lead the way," was all he said before starting forward.

Kivan spared the man a brief glance before looking once more to Evelyn. "I will scout ahead." He hurried on ahead of the other then, striding on and away down the hills without further word.

"Come on," Evelyn called back over her shoulder to Imoen and Xan. The two followed up quickly behind her, with their heads together in some conversation. The raven-haired woman paid it little mind. There was still some of the day left to whittle away on the march before sleep. And Eve was determined to not to waste it.

She was not looking forward to her dreams that night.

Night had fallen, and the shadows stretched long before melding into the earth, before Evelyn finally called a halt to their march. Minsc had been able to track the band of Gnolls east to the opposite side of the hills, and now they stood in the wooded lands at their feet. There were very few trails except for a few beaten by countless woodland creatures over the course of time, and it was becoming more and more difficult to pick their way through it as the dark grew deeper. It was more for that, than Imoen's complaining, that finally decided the matter for her.

Now she stood at the edge of the stand of evergreen trees they had decided to make camp within, her arms crossed and staring off into the night as she tried to ignore just how sore her feet really were. They had not seen Kivan all day, though they had not come across his corpse either. He was somewhere still out there, and she needed to speak with him alone. And she was hardly in any hurry to meet her nightmares that night.

No matter what Kivan thought, she was not so worried about the hopelessness of undertaking that task with the Rashemi alone as she was about the others tagging along after her. She had promised herself that she would see no one else injured in her stead. And already both the ranger and Imoen had been, her best friend nearly dying because of her. It was not something she cared to think too much about. Gorion's death for her had been enough. She hardly knew what Imoen's might do to her. She didn't ever want to know.

It was foolish, she knew, trailing off after the Rashemi, who she barely knew. She should certainly not have entrusted her life to him so rashly, no matter what he had done to save her the night before. But she had hoped to escape the others for a time, and possibly draw off some of the bounty hunters and assassins that were hounding her. It was bad enough that they were trying to kill _her_, but now they were after the others as well and only because they had tried to help her. At least she might lead her pursuers off course for a little while. Maybe.

Well, whatever came of that brief journey, she hoped it was at least some good for once. And this time, she hoped, the bad would not outweigh that good.

Dead leaves crunched behind her, and Evelyn was spinning around with Fuller's dagger already in hand. Xan stop dead in his tracks, and threw his hands up placatingly, eyeing the weapon. After a moment, she lowered it.

"The longer I wander in this insecure world," the Elven mage said quietly, his eyes flashing from the small blade to her own, "the more I miss the _safety_ of Evereska. It is only another illusion, but still …" he trailed off almost drearily as he stepped forward.

Xan took a place beside her, joining her in that quiet vigil down over the uneven woodlands about. They were some distance away from the campfire behind, the light only glinting through the darkness toward them. And they were silent for a time.

"It _is_ an illusion," Evelyn said softly without looking at the other. An owl hooted loudly somewhere right above them. She was remembering the two men who had attacked her inside Candlekeep just then – remembering how the safest place in the world had not been safe at all. "What good did it do?" she muttered to herself. _Nothing_.

The Elf nodded his head slowly, glancing at her. "You are wise for one so young. I would consider you a sensible sort, even, if only you tried harder to avoid endangering your life unnecessarily. This quest you engage us in is but a gate to the afterlife."

"Then why did you come?" she asked, somewhat harshly. She had saved him, true, but it was not only to have him get himself killed for her so soon afterward.

"It is as I said," the other told her with a weary sigh. "I owe you a boon for saving my life from that dreadful prison. And what better way to repay that debt than to spare your own from something _gris_ly and premature."

"You don't owe me anything." She crossed her arms over her chest once more, giving the dark forests before her a heated look. There was quiet again then, except for the persistent hooting of the owl overhead. And Evelyn was left alone with her black thoughts … until they subsided somewhat.

"Tell me," the Elf began anew after a time, "Why is it that you and these companions of yours have taken such an interest in the iron shortage? It seems to extend beyond merely freeing them from their half-Orc oppressor."

Evelyn looked at him, hard, for several moments. And then she turned away again, pursing her lips. "No," she admitted quietly, "that wasn't the only reason."

She was quiet again for a time.

"Someone very dear to us was murdered," she said then. "It had something to do with the mines and the bandits along the roads. And now they are trying to kill me." _Us_, she added silently … reluctantly.

The Elf nodded. "It seems you are a dangerous person to be around then."

"What did you want, Xan?" she demanded suddenly, turning towards him. The other met her irritation with the same solemn look as always.

"I wished to know something more about this quest that I so foolishly embarked upon," he lamented. "And whether or not the young woman I chose to aid was worth the effort."

"Was she?" Evelyn asked.

But Xan said nothing, giving her a piercing look. Then he turned away, and moved back towards the camp. For her part, Evelyn was only mildly curious as to just what that meant. But then the brush before her exploded outward.

Kivan appeared before her then, coming to a surprised halt as he found her waiting. She gave him a level look as he shouldered his bow.

"They have turned north," he told her simply. "There is a river many miles ahead that is too deep to cross. They must be seeking its shallows further up."

He moved past her, back towards the camp.

"I know you don't want to be here, Kivan," she said quietly. The ranger stopped dead in his tracks. "Why did you come?"

"Why did _you_?" He rounded back on her, sounding irritated. But she brushed it aside easily.

"I came to help someone, Kivan," she explained, still staring off into the forests with her back to him. "We both know that you do not bother with such _fools'_ errands."

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "I think you misunderstand me."

"And I don't think you say what you mean!" she spat back, twisting around toward him. "If you are here to help that poor man, then tell me," she continued in an angrily whisper. "But don't tell me you are here to help me because I know that you're not!"

The other stood impassively, his face like chiseled stone and hardly weathered by the storm she had unleashed upon it. But underneath … "What would you have me tell you then?" he asked calmly.

"Beregost was the next step toward taking your revenge," she told him, raising her chin. "Why dare turn away from it unless you think staying near me a better chance of finding Tazok?"

There was almost no change in his face as she said it. But she caught the slight widening of his eyes. There was surprise there, but no one else could have noticed. Not if they hadn't been waiting for it. And she had.

"I am not as simple as you seem to think, Kivan," she continued, lowering her voice dangerously. "I _know_ that you have been using me as bait this whole time. You are just staying near and waiting for something more to lead you right to your revenge."

The ranger opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again. Instead he stared at her, his face becoming even harder than before – if that was possible. "You are anything but simple," he said at the last.

She turned away again, having said all that she needed to say. She was done with him.

But the other just stood there, refusing to leave as she leveled her angry eyes on the darkness about. He did not move for several long minutes, and he made no sound. But then he suddenly took a step towards her.

"I told you that I would protect you," he said softly. Had he been any other, she was sure it would have sounded like a plea.

"You also told me that you would teach me how to take my revenge," she muttered back.

"Have you not learned?" he asked.

But she shook her head. "I learned on my own. You didn't teach me anything."

"Then you learned something, did you not?" he said.

She turned back around to face him, but said nothing, only glared. He met her angry eyes with his own, however, and did not waver. Then, he turned away.

"We should cut across the forest and meet the Gnolls' trail further north," he said, pausing briefly in his stride back toward the camp without facing her. "We might gain some time that way. At the very least it will spare us some walking." He continued on.

"Kivan," she called after him.

He stopped once more, but he did not turn to face her.

"If you are untruthful with me again," she continued, "if you put my life in danger, or Imoen's, or anyone else's …" Evelyn paused, waiting until the ranger slowly looked back toward her. "I will kill you, Kivan," she finished softly.

The other stared at her for several long moments, his face unreadable. Then he turned away, and disappeared through the trees.

Evelyn watched him go.

She had not thought quite so much of Gnolls when she had first decided to join Minsc in his plight. In fact, Eve had hardly thought the beasts would be any more trouble than anything else she had been forced to face and best in the past week – certainly no more terrible than hordes of kobolds, bloodthirsty assassins out for her fingers, or black-plated fiends doing murder in the night. But as she stood there staring down four of the seven-foot tall, dog-headed monsters gnashing their massive jaws at her …

… She was somewhat willing to reconsider her opinion of them.

Every last one of those behind her had weapons bared, bow drawn, or steel unleashed. But they made no move, darting glances from first one of the giant beasts to another. Each of those was garbed in mail or thick, patchwork leathers, with scythe-like axe heads and steel shields or bucklers in hand. They made no move either.

"Why have they not attacked us?" Xan demanded quietly, one hand raised and ready to light afire with magicks, the other holding the blue-bladed sword before him. No one answered him, though.

They each must have been wondering that very same thing. Evelyn knew she was. But Minsc, standing next to her, seemed almost not to care. He was breathing raggedly, a dangerous gleam in his eye as he glared heatedly at the Gnolls. The double-bladed sword was in his hands, bobbing up and down as he sucked in air, but Eve doubted that he really needed it. He looked as if he might tear each of the beasts apart with his bare hands. He was all but foaming at the mouth.

Then, another of the dog-headed monsters was suddenly pushing through the others, a fifth coming to their fore. It stabbed a clawed finger straight at them.

"Stop!" the beast bellowed at them in common. "You have trespassed on our territory. You shall not be allowed to leave until you have payed tribute. We demand gold in tribute!"

Evelyn blinked and then stared, as surprised at the demand as she was that it could have been spoken at all. She had expected a lot more barking and howling and a lot less intelligible words. She looked back at the others, wondering just what it was they should do. She was not so keen on pressing their luck with five of those monsters all at once.

"What if we don't have any gold?" she raised her voice to answer the Gnoll, marveling that it barely wavered. She was not about to hand over any to those beasts and hope to go in peace anyways.

"No money?" the lead Gnoll snapped at the air, clicking its teeth. "That is too bad for you." He studied them for a moment longer, and then continued. "We let you go only if you win fight. Your best champion versus our best champion."

There was some guttural talk back and forth between the Gnolls, though Evelyn could hardly know just what they said. It was more a serious of barks and growls than anything else. It sounded like jeering to her, however.

"You want to fight?" she asked, still uncertain as to why they did not just all attack at once.

"Yes!" the other barked. "Our best champion is Ludrug. Ludrug is me." He thrust a claw into the mail on his chest. "Are you ready for fight? No matter, we fight now!"

Ludrug was bounding towards her then, and every weapon behind her seemed to move at once to meet him. But then Minsc was suddenly charging past, straight for the Gnoll leader. Kivan growled from behind, pulling back from nearly loosing an arrow into the Rashemi's back. Evelyn glanced briefly toward the other Gnolls, but they merely stood, and watched.

"Go for the eyes, Boo!" the giant of a man was roaring in fury then. "GO FOR THE EYES!!" He howled aloud.

The two, Minsc and Ludrug, closed with each other quickly across the open grassland beneath, the one raising his massive blade high while the other reeled back with his axe. Minsc had stood taller than any of those behind him, but the Gnoll was even bigger, and bulkier, though it moved with blinding speed. And then sword and axe met.

Evelyn half-expected thunder to roar overhead as the two clashed, and lightning to come screaming out of the heavens. But there was only the shrill cry of steel ringing loudly through the clearing, and the flash of sparks flying free. That neither broke instantly at the force behind both blows was miraculous enough for her.

Kivan raised his bow again as the two began to fight in earnest, the Gnoll whipping its axe about skillfully while Minsc seemed to rely more on rage and brute strength alone to bring the other down. But Evelyn twisted about, raising a hand. "No! Wait!" she cried at him. She wanted to see.

The ranger lowered his bow once more with a frustrated growl, all but baring his teeth. "If you wish to see him dead, then so be it," he muttered.

"If they are willing to let us pass if Minsc can win," she snapped right back, "then we won't have to worry about the others at all. If not, then it will hardly matter. We'll have to fight them all anyways."

She thought it sounded sensible enough, but the other seemed to disagree. He bit his tongue, though, and kept his bow down. An arrow stayed nocked however.

Minsc continued to howl his rage, even as the dog-beast roared right back at him. Ludrug caught the edge of the other's sword with his shield, and then stuck his head forward, snapping with his mighty jaws for the Rashemi's skull. The giant man fisted it right in the snout.

Eve wasn't sure how, but inside of a few more moments, both had lost their weapons and were suddenly tumbling about on the grass, tearing at each other like wolves. The man punched and kicked, while the other clawed and snapped, and both were bleeding before they managed to break free again. And Evelyn was beginning to wonder just what might happen if Ludrug won.

Then Minsc was suddenly charging the other, barreling into its broad, mailed chest and driving Ludrug back nearly to the ground. But the Gnoll leader howled, seizing the upper hand, and then was lifting the Rashemi clear off his feet. With one mighty heave, Minsc was tumbling through the air and over into the ground a dozen paces away. The four Gnolls beyond began barking and gnashing their teeth eagerly. Evelyn thought she heard something about food, but she hoped that it was only her imagination.

Ludrug loped forward then, while Minsc scrounged in the earth, facing the other way. Then the Gnoll leapt into the air, claws and teeth bared. The Rashemi came whipping about only at the last moment.

Evelyn bit her lip, her fists clenching at her sides. But then Minsc was climbing to his feet, double-edged sword in hand. Ludrug lay just beside him, panting on the earth. If it had not been for the mail, Eve was sure he would have been cloven in two.

The massive blade came up without a second thought on the Rashemi's part, and he paused for only a moment as he stared balefully down upon the fallen beast. It laid there, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. As steel suddenly flashed down to rend mail and flesh, it whimpered.

Minsc did not lower his sword, instead turning toward the four other Gnolls. They each stood silent, their wolf-heads difficult to discern. But Eve liked to think that it was hesitation. The Rashemi waited, still baring his teeth, for them to come to him.

After several more moments of silence, Evelyn started forward, intent upon Minsc and then passing through the four other Gnolls without trouble. They had beaten their leader, and she hoped that might have frightened them enough to stand aside. But then an arrow suddenly hissed passed her head, flying hard forward, and struck one of the beasts square in the eye. It collapsed without a sound.

The clearing suddenly erupted in motion abruptly once more, the remaining three Gnolls bounding forward with axes and shields in hand. Evelyn could hardly see what the others were doing behind her, but she wasted no time in charging toward Minsc, sure enough that he could not best three of those monsters at once. She hefted the ashwood staff in hand, mere paces away, just as the first reached him.

Two more arrows hurtled past, even as Minsc dug his sword deep into the flank of one Gnoll, while another pounced on him from the side. Evelyn took that one in the chest with her staff, a knife catching it in the throat. The third went down beneath Kivan's arrows, and then Minsc's blade took the last's skull clean off its shoulders. And then all lay still.

Evelyn turned on her heel away from the carnage, finding Imoen just behind her with the two Elves still standing where they had been. Eve hardly wasted a moment in striding quickly back toward them.

She pushed past the mage and went straight for the ranger. He had enough foresight to lower his bow as she trudged up just before him, his hard eyes finding hers. "We could not have left them at our back," he told her simply. And then she struck him across the face.

Kivan reeled back in surprise and anger, but recomposed himself just as quickly. And then she struck him again, harder.

Her hand whipped upward to slap him a third time, but he caught her wrist in his own, his eyes burning with fire as they fixed back upon her. She tore her hand instantly out from his grip.

"Now you listen to me and you listen well!" she hissed at him, stabbing a finger into his chest. "The only reason you are here at all is because _I_ let you come! And I've regretted that decision ever since I made it! So you better just learn to do exactly what I say, when I say it … or I will make _you_ regret you're coming just as much as I do!"

Her hands suddenly began to itch, but she ignored it. _Not that_, she thought bitterly inside her head. _Never again_.

"Am I understood?" she demanded then.

But the ranger did not answer. Instead his eyes burned angrily into hers, his jaw set and firm. She did not know if that look bordered on hate or shame, but she hardly cared just then. She was long past done with him.

"Eve!" Imoen suddenly called out to her, and she turned. "This one's still alive!"

Evelyn gave Kivan one last hard look, but the ranger had already lowered his eyes, absorbed in his own dark thoughts. She moved away, and quickly came beside her best friend. Minsc stood just a step away, ready to finish the beast off.

Two of Kivan's arrows stuck out from the leathers of the Gnoll's chest, blood seeping outward to stain the ground. Its mouth hung open, and it panted out the last of its breath beneath them.

"Where are the rest of you?" Eve demanded harshly of the thing, crouching down beside it. "Are the others far? Answer me."

"Grrrrruaarr," it growled, blood flecking its lips as it barked. "Wrrrretched forrrtrrresss!" it answered then. "If you go therrrre, go to conquerrrrr!"

"What fortress?" She glanced toward Imoen, but the other woman merely shrugged.

"The forrtrrresss to the wesssst!" the Gnoll grated up at her. "I wisshed to rrrroasst the captive when the otherrrs would rather let herrr live within that cellarrr!" it seemed to laugh, a guttural, chortling sound. "Foolss! And now my brrrethrren make me an exile frrrom my own clan! Hearrr me, I ssshall tassste herrr flessh yet!!"

"Dynaheir!" Minsc suddenly hissed. "You shall taste nothing, evil dog!" And then his sword came twisting up and about, and then down. The Gnoll rattled one last breath with two feet of steel lodged deep inside its chest, and then lay still. Evelyn stood.

"If there is a fortress in the west," Xan began as he strode up beside them, "then it must lie across the river."

"But their tracks still lead north." Evelyn cast a look westward toward the water that rushed past in the distance. "They didn't cross here."

"Less talk, more fight!" Minsc clenched an angry fist before him. "Dynaheir waits for Minsc and Boo!" Evelyn gave him a stern look, but nodded her head.

"We will continue north along their trail then," she said. "And we will cross where they crossed."

Minsc turned away without further word, impatient as he took up the trail once more. Evelyn spared the dead Gnolls only a brief glance before hefting her staff and continuing after. Whatever they planned to do, it sounded as if Dynaheir had already been brought inside a fortress. And Eve hardly thought much of their chances in assaulting one. They had been lucky with the five … but she wondered just how long that luck would last against twice as many, or more. She didn't want to think about it. She just wanted to be alone for a while. But it would wait until nightfall.

They still had a long way to go. She was sure of it.


	20. Chapter 3 Off the Beaten Path

_**Off the Beaten Path**_

"A Moonblade."

Xan spoke the name as if it should mean something to her, but Evelyn did not recognize it. Imoen seemed to though, and perked from where she had been lying beside the campfire.

"A Moonblade? Really?" Her eyes had gone wide with amazement as she gazed upon the luminescent blue steel of the weapon the Elven mage cradled in his hands. Xan merely nodded.

"They were given to the Elves by the Seldarine," he explained, sounding almost bored. "They bond themselves to their wielders, belonging to chosen leaders among the Elves. They are most often those who can protect the Elvendom from Goblins, Orcs, Drow and our other ancient enemies."

Evelyn started listening more intently then, her eyes flashing up towards the Elf as he continued.

"They are passed from a worthy person to a worthy person in a family, and no man or woman of unclean spirit can wield one. The blade will kill a corrupted owner who has misused its power."

Imoen was lying flat on her stomach, her chin cradled atop steepled hands as she gazed up with renewed wonder at the Elf. Evelyn liked to think her own amazement was a little more practical.

"So, the Moonblades only choose those pure and worthy to wield them?" she asked curiously, and the mage nodded. She leaned forward. "Well then that would make your heart noble and pure, then, wouldn't it?"

Xan gave her a level look, and she pulled back. It hardly mattered. If he spoke the truth … well, then he was at least someone she could probably trust. It was a small comfort at the least.

Minsc sat a little distant, not at all feeling the lack of their company at the moment. He was toying with something in his hands, and speaking quietly as if someone else were there. None of the others had bothered to ask him about it. Evelyn had already seen enough to know just what Jaheira had meant by his being a 'little addled'. But he seemed to have a good heart.

The ranger had disappeared somewhere some time ago, and she only assumed that he was either scouting or intent upon being alone. It was just as well if it was the latter. He had much thinking to do. He had most likely been right about leaving the Gnolls at their backs, but he could hardly make that judgment for them all … and especially without warning. Such antics were going to get them killed eventually. He had already put them in danger more often than not that way.

"You say that someone dear to you was murdered," Xan was saying then, sliding his Moonblade gently, almost lovingly back within its sheath. "You both look far too young to lead such a life on the road.I cannot help but wonder about your reasons."

Evelyn could see Imoen's eyes glinting in the firelight as they flashed briefly towards her. The other woman appeared as calm and disinterested as she could possibly be, but her best friend had seen that guarded look for what it was. She would not be the one to speak.

"My father was murdered," Evelyn told him then. "We left our home and were attacked by bandits."

That Imoen had had the foresight to be so discreet with their trust at all Evelyn was thankful for, for a moment. But then she realized just what that meant, and it frightened her instead.

"Your father?" the Elf mused, his face looking even more grim than usual. "That is a dire turn of events indeed, though we are all destined for dust and darkness in the end. I mourn for your loss," he added in that despondently melodic voice of his. "But why did you not return home and seek aid?"

She looked away. "We grew up in Candlekeep," she murmured softly. "They would not have taken us back in."

"Candlekeep? Are you sure?" the Elf asked in surprise. "Ah, but of course you are," he canted his head at her hard look. "I do not doubt your words, but the library fortress is strictly regulated, and carefully guarded. Unless there have been special circumstances I am unaware of, I do not see how the monks could have allowed you to spend your childhood there."

"My father persuaded the Keeper of the Tomes to let me stay," she managed.

"He must have been a great and influential man indeed if he accomplished such."

"Yes," Evelyn let the word fall unceremoniously free from her tongue. It all began to bite painfully at the back of her skull.

"Might I ask who this great man was then?" he pressed. But Evelyn hardly cared for that conversation anymore. "To be worthy enough to persuade the Keeper of the Tomes and yet have his daughter left for–"

"Excuse me," she said quickly, standing. She felt tears begin to burn at the corners of her eyes at the memory. Before the Elf could ask her anything more, though, she was hurrying away from the fire and into the enveloping darkness of the pine copse about.

She reached the edge of the small stand of trees they had camped within quickly, coming up abruptly as grassy plain stretched away beneath her feet. She let her tears flow more freely there, certain enough that no one could see just then. It was something that she knew she had to hide now, because she could hardly afford to be so soft – at least in front of the others. Imoen would hardly fault her for it, but she needed to be strong enough to keep herself and the rest of them safe. Whether or not she could trust them, if they did not respect her, then they would fall beyond her grasp – too distant to help. It was hard to think it … but she knew it was true.

It had been ten days … ten days since Gorion had been murdered and she had been left alone and helpless. But she had survived. No matter what nightmares she had suffered, monsters she had had to face – whether in the mirror or not – she was still breathing and alive enough to take her vengeance when the time came. She hardly knew what was happening inside of her – she didn't want to think about it. She only needed to live long enough to see justice done. Gorion was innocent. He had died for_ her_. And there would be payment for that. She had sworn it in blood.

Her hands itched. They did so often of late. She couldn't see it, but she knew that they were glowing red – suffused with blood. They hungered for it more than any other part of her, almost as if they were no longer hers to control. It made her whole being seem perverse. Jondalar had taught her never to use what she had learned to take a life unless it was absolutely necessary. And yet she had already ended so many with wanton abandon. They could hardly have _all_ been necessary.

She wanted to scream out to the heavens, and demand to know just what it was that was growing inside of her. It was evil enough … of that she was all but sure. But she knew that there would be no answer. She had not uttered Oghma's name in some time now. She did not think the gods cared or even concerned themselves with that world. It was so far beneath them.

"You are not as strong as you think."

The voice might have been hers; it mirrored her thoughts so closely. But she recognized that muttering tone as all too familiar to her ears. She turned slowly to find the ranger silhouetted in the dark. She doubted that he had been there all along.

"Strong enough," she spat back at him, swiping a hand at her eyes. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm not."

"None of us are," he pressed, ignoring her. "But I did not come here to trade barbs with you."

"What _do _you want then?" she asked heatedly. All her frustration had melted away to anger at the sight of him. "I'd ask you to stop following me, but I know that you won't."

He did not answer her for a moment, moving up slowly until he stood just beside her. He looked out at the night for a long time while she stood there glaring. After a time, she grew tired of it, and looked away as well.

"When the Orcs had surrounded us," he began quietly, "I had my dagger pressed against Deheriana's neck. But I hesitated, and I lost my chance to save her."

"What?" she snapped in surprise, leveling him with another icy glare. His mind was somewhere else, though.

He turned briefly toward her. "If I had had another moment, she would have died by my hand, and I would have followed her. Do you know what happened, instead?" he asked. "She begged the beasts for mercy … to spare _me_."

His fists had clenched tight at the last – so tight that she could hear leather creak.

"Tazok found it amusing," he continued then, his eyes burning on some distant point on the horizon, "and ordered me _beaten_ in front of Deheriana. He pretended that her pleas might touch his heart. If only she tried a little harder," he mocked bitterly.

"But I was weak," he said. "I fainted. When I came back … When I came back …" he shook his head slowly, still staring intently at nothing. He was quiet for some time.

The wind picked up, scouring the lowlands around them. It was warm, but the breeze was cold so near to the mountains and the sea. The sound of pines rustling overhead grew deafening.

"She was lying on the ground," came the ranger's voice at last, small and insignificant, "or at least what once was her was lying there – a misshapen piece of flesh … torn … cut … burned." His eyes flashed briefly toward hers. "Tazok was wearing a fresh pair of Elven ears on his necklace – he told me that it was a trophy for the one who had taken the first turn …

"It became my only goal to not pass out," he persisted, his voice gaining some strength, "and be entertaining enough as a victim. The world became a blur, but I forced myself on my feet after each hit." His face twisted. "I screamed until my voice failed." And his eyes boiled. "But Tazok finally grew bored by the spectacle … and ordered Deheriana killed. There were enough volunteers," he muttered sardonically at the last.

"As soon as I felt that she was dead, as soon as I _knew_ that she was broken and lifeless and gone from this world … my spirit left me too. They left both of us for dead. But I did not die." He did not look at her. His voice became barely more than a whisper, haunted and full of sorrow. "Why did I not die with her?" He seemed almost like a ghost. Lost … and alone.

"I betrayed the one I loved to the most horrifying end." He suddenly looked at her then. "Shevarash gave my life back to me, so that I might redeem myself and avenge my wife's death. That's what I think …"

There was a moment's pause of silence, as the ranger's eyes bore into Evelyn's own. She felt almost as if he were seeing something else there instead of just her. All of her anger had melted away into awe. And then she asked softly, "Why are you telling me this?"

He did not speak at first. But then he looked away. "I hoped that you might understand."

But she shook her head. "How could I?" She frowned up at him. "You told me as much back in the mines. My love for Gorion could never compare with that of yours for Deheriana."

His eyes squeezed shut painfully for a moment, and then he twisted them even further away. "I am sorry," he told her then. "I should not have spoken such words to you." Even if she thought it sincere, she knew that he still believed them.

"She was your wife?" Evelyn asked, and the Elf nodded.

"Yes. And so much more."

"How did you meet?"

The ranger looked at her, studying her intently for a moment. But then he turned away once more. "I met Deheriana during the war in Shilmista," he began in a steadier voice. "Everyone then became a fighter, elders and children, nobles and commoners alike. She was among our spellcasters – a small group and vulnerable, but a lot of our hope was placed in their power.

"So a fighter's eyes were always on them to protect and to lend them cover." He shook his head, a thin smile breaking his face. "I saw Deheriana … it was hard not to notice her. In the moments of deepest despair, when all was but lost, I looked at her, and my spirit soared, and I cared not for hurts.

"Like a young birch tree, golden and green, she stood, and her voice was clear as morning dew, even as her chants brought death to our foes.

"After the war was over we buried our dead with honors," he told her. "My mother could not be consoled in her grief for my father and my brothers who had fallen. She convinced the rest of my kin to leave for Evermeet. I stayed behind, for after the freezing winter I saw the new spring coming, and Deheriana was smiling every time she met me, and I bid her to have a fair day."

Kivan continued to gaze out at nothing in the dark, seeming almost happy with reliving that memory for the moment. But then his face suddenly broke, and fell. And then he seemed almost more lost than he had been before. He turned toward her, bemused.

"I need you to help me, Kivan," she told him then. His brow only furrowed deeper.

"I have been trying to do just that," he told her.

"I need you to trust me, Kivan," she pressed.

He was silent for several long moments, merely searching her eyes. For what, she did not know. But then he seemed to find it.

He nodded. "Very well."

And then he looked back out across the plains and the night, staring for a long while at nothing.

After a moment, she joined him.

Evelyn had her hand out and staying the ranger, even before he could raise his bow. "Wait," she whispered. And the other waited.

"There are five hiding in the brush," he whispered back, "with bows trained on us." An arrow came slowly to the string, but he readied himself no more than that.

"Hobgoblins," Xan muttered from behind. "I can smell their rank filth even from here."

"Be ready," was all Eve said before lowering her staff to the ground and striding forward. She plastered a smile across her face.

"Ah, weary travelers, well met!" the lone man greeted congenially with a welcoming hand as he stepped forward to meet her. "Neville, the fairest of all fair bandits, at your service." He bowed. "What may I do for you this hour?"

She returned the gestured with a generous nod of her head. "Perhaps you could tell your men in the bushes to drop their bows and step out into the open." The man, handsome enough to be sure with his fine wavy hair like sand and glimmering blue eyes, twisted back around in dramatic surprise, before returning to her.

"Did you find all five of them, then?" he asked with flair, aghast. "Pity, I shall have to train them better." He seemed almost apologetic. But he recovered quickly. "Anyhow, I'm afraid that I can't abide by your wishes," he shook his head sadly. "My men would think me a coward to surrender in the face of such a paltry force."

"Well, then," Eve continued, still smiling, "perhaps you could escort us through your territory and ensure that we meet with no harm along the way. I'm sure gold would not be out of the question."

"What an interesting proposal," he seemed to actually consider it for a moment. "Indeed, we _could_ protect you from any beasts you might encounter or any ill-willed travelers along the way." He moved past her as he spoke, giving the Hobgoblins in the trees an easy mark. "It would be possible, even likely, except for one minor detail …" He rounded back upon her, clearing his throat. "Ahem, you see, we be _bandits_ here. Cut-throats … ne'er-do-wells … tommy-knockers, and such ilk. We could protect you from all but ourselves, our own urges and greed …" he trailed off, moving up beside her and looking toward his hidden men. "In truth, that greed overwhelms us now." Then he abruptly raised his voice loud enough for them to hear. "The man and the Elves – keep the women!"

Evelyn had Fuller's dagger across his throat and pressed tightly against the chain links on his chest before he could even finish. The man's eyes went wide in surprise as blood began pouring out freely from beneath his chin and he toppled forward, but she wasted no time in pulling him tightly to her and around. Three arrows meant hastily for her took him in the back instead.

Neville stiffened, gargling blood aloud. If he had been dying before, he was dead now. She dropped him to the ground without further concern, ducking down to let the arrows fly free overhead. She caught sight of several flashes of light and a few knives whipping past above as well, and then everything ceased. Minsc tore past, roaring aloud in fury. There could not have been much left for him.

Eve leapt to her feet, and thrust Fuller's dagger back through the loop at her belt after wiping it clean on the grass. Then she strode back toward the others.

"There is a bridge it seems," Xan said aloud as she neared, pointing ahead and past her. "The gods have spared us the displeasure of a watery grave at least. For now." He frowned as he started forward.

"This must have been where they crossed then," she told the other two. Kivan merely nodded.

"Their trail has led us here."

Imoen gave her best friend an odd look, one that Evelyn could not place. But then she was turning away.

"We should keep moving then," she declared firmly.

The hard part had yet to come.

"The Gnolls' stronghold is close. Minsc and Boo can feel it …"

The giant of a man sat with his broad back to a tree, acorns and dead needles scattered about. The firelight played off his tattooed face as he stared into it, and Evelyn could see from where she was the hardness there. He wanted vengeance as much as any of them.

"Is that … _Boo_?" Imoen abruptly asked, pointing. There was a small rodent of some kind crawling and squirming about in the Rashemi's massive hands, twitching its little pink nose about. Eve had only paid it half a mind.

"Yes," the man answered, his voice becoming suddenly lighter – if that deep rumble possibly could. "Boo is Minsc's hamster and faithful companion," he declared proudly. "Take heart fellow do-gooders," he said aloud to them all, "for you have curried the favor of Boo, the only miniature giant space hamster in the Realms! He will lead us to _victory_!"

"Ohhh," Imoen cooed, rubbing a finger across the little thing's backside, "he's so cute! Where did you find him?"

The giant man grinned down at her. "Boo has been Minsc's faithful companion ever since his head wound. He is wise beyond his miniature size!"

Xan directed a pointed look at Evelyn, but she ignored it. Instead she looked beyond him as the ranger appeared then from the shadows outside the firelight. He stopped just before her, and stuck out a length of wood toward her hand. She took it in surprise.

"What's this?" she asked. But he had already turned around.

"Something you might find useful to learn," he uttered as he moved away. She only spared a moment's hesitation before climbing to her feet to follow.

They stopped some distance away from where they had set camp that night, in a more densely packed woodland full of pines and firs. It kept the fire hidden somewhat from prying eyes, though who could think to find them out there she did not know. Given her luck of late, however, it was a miracle that they had not been ambushed by yet more assassins or bounty hunters in the night. It was more than she could have hoped for.

They reached a small clearing, but it took some time before her eyes could adjust to the dim moonlight streaming down from above. The ranger seemed to have no problem, though.

"You wished me to teach you something," he said then, hefting something in his hand. After several moments of squinting, she found it to be another length of wood identical to the one she held in her own. They were both smoothed and seemed as if they had been carefully molded to their shape.

"Defend yourself!"

He was lunging at her of a sudden, moving with blinding speed to bring the elongated club in his hand around toward her head. Without thinking she brought her own up to meet it instantly, and leapt backward.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she shrieked at him angrily, keeping the length of wood between them. But he only seemed to ease his stance for a moment.

"Good," he said simply. "You at least act well on instinct. No doubt due to whatever previous training you received. This should not be difficult for you then."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, still shaken at him attacking her for no apparent reason. And to think, she had believed that she could trust him again!

"These wooden blades were not easy to carve with little more than my knife," he started to explain, "but they should imitate the weight and feel of a real blade closely enough. It has been some time, but I still know enough to teach you more than merely one end from another."

Evelyn looked down to the piece of wood in her hands, slowly coming to realize just what he meant by all of it. It was some kind of practice blade.

"You want to teach me how to use a sword?" she asked then.

He nodded his head. "I am far better with a bow, but I have been trained at the blade as well." He crouched down a little lower then. "I will attack you again," he warned her, "this time without so simple a maneuver."

She only had that little warning before he began to move again, and enough time to despair for a moment at the fact that he thought that his first attack had been simple. She had barely kept it from bashing in her skull. And the next proved just as bad for her.

"Good," he lied. She had always been such a bad pupil. "Now I want you to try a High Guard …"

They continued like that for some time – the ranger leading and attacking, and her merely defending and satisfied enough that she managed to avoid a fatal bruising. She liked using her hands and feet, and especially her staff, far better, but she started to keep rhythm with his blows as they became even faster than they had at first – something she had not thought possible. She didn't speak much – concentrating as much as she was – but there was little reason to do so. It wasn't as if the other was anything less than reticent to begin with.

The night wore on as they entered that little dance of blades in the dark. And she managed to lose herself in it just as she had always done with Jondalar so long ago. It was a strange comfort to be had there in that strange and wild place so far from home. She might have even thanked him for it, had it not been for how cunningly he tried to strike her.

By the time they were done, she could not have avoided some stinging bruises. He, of course, had none. But there was some small comfort to be had from it all.

Her nightmares were not quite so merciless that night.


	21. Chapter 3 A Watery Grave

_**A Watery Grave**_

A long, roped wooden bridge stretched before them, spanning the dark waters of a broad stream that ran deep beneath it. They stared at it in silence for a moment, listening to the wood creak. And then a heavy gust took it in the side, and it began to rock back and forth, barely holding its rotting planks together it seemed. A fortress loomed in the distance above.

"Well that certainly looks precarious." Xan's grim frown deepened even more than usual, his eyes mirroring a beaten despair as he gazed down to the rocks below. Evelyn only shook her head slowly, and started forward.

"Come on."

Her bravado only lasted so long, however, once she was but several steps out onto the planks. Then she began to take them slowly, one at a time, pausing at every untoward creak she heard from the wood underneath. She kept her eyes almost perpetually fixed through the cracks between them, trying not to think about those same rocks below. It was a vain effort.

Sometime after she had passed beyond the lowest dip at the center of the bridge, she could hear Kivan hissing something in warning from behind.

"Someone is coming!"

She froze instantly, and listened. Just over the dull roar of the waters below, she could hear grunting and what might have been speaking from beyond the safety of the other side. When she rounded back upon the others, her eyes went wide. Each of them still stood where they had been. Not one had set foot on the bridge after her.

"What were you waiting for?!" she cried out then in anger and surprise.

"You to fall," came the Elven mage's bitter reply. Imoen only shrugged helplessly.

She had a death grip on the corded ropes that ran to either side of the bridge with one hand, her staff clutched desperately in the other. She only had time to turn around as something large and burly plowed into view from behind the rocks on the other side.

"Stop!" the thing bellowed at her. "You go nowhere! This our bridge, you pay to walk it!" Another of the things trudged into sight then to stand beside the first.

For a moment, she could not place the two beasts. But then she remembered that day when they had found the half-eaten child alone on the road. Those two man-like monsters seemed to resemble the two they had met before more than just a little. And they certainly didn't look averse to adding _her _to some main course the way they licked their jagged teeth.

"You pay … two hundred gold coins for all heads," the thing continued, shouting across at them, "or lose heads!"

Evelyn only stared, wide eyed … first at the water and the rocks below … and then at them. And then she looked back toward the others.

They had not made any move to cross the bridge to help her, but she could see Kivan readying an arrow where he stood and Imoen pawing at her sleeve. Minsc was glaring intently toward the other side, but he had yet to take that massive blade of his in hand. And it was for the better, she thought hurriedly then. She did not dare to hope that that bridge would support him as well.

"I think," she stammered back at the two beasts, edging her way a step along backwards toward the others, "I think we'll just take the long way around!" She nodded her head emphatically, giving them a nervous smile that she hoped they could not see for what it was. Turning around quickly, she hastened another few precarious steps, but then came an angry grunt from behind.

"Your head so dumb you not miss it!" it growled.

"Yeah!" the other barked at her as well. "We kill you, take stuff, and get gold anyway! Dumb head!"

And then they both were lumbering toward her.

The rope bridge began shaking wildly, their heavy feet crashing down upon the rotting wood as they charged toward her. An arrow hissed past Evelyn's head, and she could hear Xan shout something before light exploded across the expanse. Both struck one of the man-beasts square in the chest, and he tumbled over the side of the bridge with a howl. The other kept coming. But then wood snapped.

Eve only had time enough to wrap her arm even more tightly about the rope beside her as the thing suddenly roared in surprise, its jagged teeth flashing wide as it plummeted through the broken planks below. The rushing waters swallowed it almost too quickly.

Everything was still for a moment, as Evelyn sat there on the bridge, alone, and staring down into the rapids. And then she stood, looking back towards the others. Imoen shrugged again, and her best friend gave her a hard look. She turned away.

And then something terrible happened.

Evelyn heard it before she felt it … the death knell of a rope snapping free. Then came the shuddering tremor along the bridge that rocked her to her knees.

"Eve!" someone screamed behind her.

She cried out in surprise as she fell to the wooden planks, one of them bursting beneath her. The whole bridge canted to one side, and then she was tumbling over its slanted edge, screaming herself. She caught the broken rope almost too late.

"EVE!" Imoen shrieked again, suddenly bursting into view over the rock face above, her eyes wide and wild. But there was nothing she could do.

Panic overwhelmed her, but Evelyn still somehow managed to pull herself back up partway onto the crooked bridge, half of it swinging slowly from side to side while the rest stood still. She still had her staff in her other hand, keeping it from a watery grave below. Whatever happened, she was not about to lose it. It was one of the only things of Gorion she still had left.

The others were shouting at her, but she hardly paid attention to what they said. Instead she swung back with all her strength, and heaved the ashwood up and back toward the rock face behind. It clattered along the edge, and then lay still.

"Hold on, Eve!" Imoen started for the bridge then, but Kivan wrapped an arm around her, dragging her bodily back. Thankfully, no one else tried.

With both hands gripped tightly about the rope supports of the bridge, Evelyn finally had a chance to catch her breath. It was cut short, however, as the other rope suddenly broke.

For a moment … she was weightless, the crisp mountain air rushing around her. But then that rush became a hissing scream, and all her weight – and the bridge – came crashing forward against the rock. She barely had time to scream before both her hands were jarred loose. And then she was falling.

She thought she heard something as the water closed over her, a wailing cry from the depths screaming for her blood.

But then her head struck stone … and she knew no more.

There was a darkness … pervasive, and complete … all around her.

She stuck her hand out into it, trying to catch sight or sense of something. But there was nothing … only her hand before her face. It moved as if she were in a dream.

And then everything began to fall apart.

She felt herself coming undone, piece by piece, disintegrating into the ether slowly … inexorably …

She watched it, and she could do nothing … only watch, as her whole being drifted apart and faded …

No … not faded, she thought dully … it felt more like she was being drained … of what, she did not know … but it was going somewhere …

She started to scream … or at least, she tried to … But there was no sound in that void … and everything was drifting away … further … and further …

… and further …

And then it all came flooding back.

Evelyn exploded into the world of the living once more, screaming as loud as she could. But something held her down, pressed firmly against her opened mouth. And instead of screaming, she gagged.

Water erupted from her throat as the thing pulled away – a man, she had enough thought to realize before she twisted over and retched out the rest of her lungs into the grassy dirt. He collapsed down beside her, breathing hard. For her part, Eve fought to keep more air in than out.

She coughed for a long time, her throat convulsing it seemed for every last drop of water still left down inside it. Even after it had subsided somewhat though, she still could hardly keep from choking on the gods knew what.

"Xan?" she finally blurted out in surprise, shoving a fist into her mouth in the next moment. The Elf lay sprawled along the earth beside her in nothing more than his trousers, his robes and his boots nowhere to be seen. He opened his eyes and frowned up at her.

"You fare very poorly in the water for someone who grew up alongside it their entire life," he said simply, his face drawn. She gave him a hard look – or tried to while rattling violently with her own wracking coughs – but he ignored it.

They were both soaked – she more so than he since she had had no chance to spare any of her clothes from their watery fate. But she cast around, still choking on her own breath, and it seemed as if they were safe … for the moment. She looked back toward the stream.

"What happened?" she managed quietly, her voice shaking. "Where are the others?"

The sodden Elf arched an eyebrow but did not open his eyes. "Hopefully bringing dry clothes …"

They sat there for some time in silence, the rushing of the stream before them all that really broke it. Evelyn hardly cared for sitting still just then, but she also did not feel quite back in sorts with herself just yet. And the Elf made no move to leave, content to wait. Maybe it was better that they did. Kivan would find them soon enough, she did not doubt.

She remembered the dream, or the void, or whatever that place was that she had gone to when everything had gone black. The memory was fading now, but she could still remember just how it felt to have her very being slowly drained from her. She started shaking at the thought of it, the cold from her drenched clothes hardly helping. She wondered if that had been what it had felt like for that assassin when she had drained the other woman's life …

She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about anything just then. She just wanted to go home …

_I just want to go home _… the thought echoed dully in her head for some time. Tears kept trying to well up in her eyes, but she bit them back, hoping that the other might mistake them for just more water then. She could hardly afford to look any weaker.

"What will you do when we are finished here?" the Elf asked slowly at her side of a sudden. "Provided, of course, that any of us survive at all."

"Just what I said I would do." She swallowed back those fears and childish longings swiftly, reinvigorated somewhat at that thought. There was no time for them now. "Go to Beregost."

"To avenge your father's death?" he offered, and she nodded.

"Yes."

"But what is the point, Evelyn?" He pulled himself up onto his elbows. "You will not bring him back to life by slaying another. Even _if_ you manage to find and kill the men responsible – which I doubt – will it bring you any satisfaction in the end?"

She swallowed again – this time her overwhelming hate. "Yes," she managed through clenched teeth, her voice hoarse. She kept her eyes fixed in front of her.

The Elf withdrew. "Then perhaps you are not so wise as I thought," he said then. "And perhaps it was foolish of me to rescue you, seeing as how you are doomed anyways."

"Then maybe you should have just let me drown," she spat angrily, giving him a heated look. "You could have saved yourself the trouble, and the risk."

Even as she said the words she knew she did not mean them. What she had felt after the darkness had been more frightening and terrible than anything she had ever felt before in her life. She started shuddering uncontrollably.

The mage only gave her a worried look. "Are you cold?" he asked, studying her. She was, but she was hardly about to tell him so. Even so, he hardly waited before pulling himself closer and trying to wrap his arms around her. "You're losing too much heat – "

"Don't touch me!" she twisted away and leapt to her feet. She regretted her anger almost instantly, but she was still feeling dazed and could hardly control it as she glared down at the other. She could feel something worming away inside her – fear … fear of whatever it was that had waited for her in that void beyond that world. And it had left her shaken to her very core.

"I think you misunderstand me," Xan told her simply, gravely. "We are all doomed," he continued. "Very few of us know the when. And it is foolish to fight against it. It will come when it will come, and there is no point in trying to change that. Yet you seem very much as if you wish to hasten that end."

Just then he looked beyond her … across the stream. "It seems your friends have arrived," he said then. "Oh, and they've brought my robes ..."

He moved past her, but stopped, looking back. Eve could just see the three pulling into view from the trees upon the other side of the stream, Imoen suddenly waving her arms wide as she caught sight of her best friend still alive and well. She only wished the latter were true.

"It might have been pointless," Xan was saying quietly, "since you will surely die soon anyways. But that does not mean it has to be today." And with that, he turned around, and leapt into the waters once more, swimming across toward the other side. For her part, Evelyn stayed where she was for a while longer, not sure yet if she trusted herself enough to move.

If nothing else … she knew now that she was afraid to die. She didn't think she could ever face that black abyss again. She just hoped that, someday, she might send Gorion's murderer there instead. Whatever the Elf thought, it would bring her _much_ satisfaction.

Oh, yes … it would.


	22. Chapter 3 The Gnoll Stronghold

_**The Gnoll Stronghold**_

"I count over a hundred. Maybe two."

Evelyn felt her hopes fall as she heard the ranger's words, standing beside him on the wooded outcropping. They both stared out across the ravine below to the crumbling old fortress that loomed beyond, its walls as imposing as ever. And now he was telling her that there were more wolf-headed monsters guarding those walls than they could have ever possibly hoped to deal with. They would need an army.

"What can we do?" she asked calmly. She kept those overwhelming doubts from her face.

"Turn back," the other said quickly, shaking his head. "Wait … use stealth."

He did not seem overly enthused about any option but the first. If she had had any other choice, Evelyn might have agreed with him. But she didn't. No … she would do this.

"Stealth it is then."

The ranger nodded.

"Stealth it is."

"Is everyone ready?"

Evelyn looked quickly around her, reading everyone's faces briefly before continuing. They were as ready as they'd ever be, she knew.

"Alright," she took a deep breath. "Here's what we're going to do."

They stood in the shadow of the keep's looming walls, the moon bright and serene as it gazed down upon them. It was the second night since the bridge incident, and everyone was as rested as they could be … she hoped. At least Eve knew she was. Though her nightmares had only grown worse – fueled with that newest horror from nearly drowning – she had let Kivan practice the blade with her some more, and it had given her some small modicum of peace. He had even begun showing her something more of how to use a bow as well. She hoped it would be enough.

She started listing off her plans for assaulting the fortress, turning to each person in turn as she let them know just what their role would be. Kivan and Imoen would take point, moving quickly and quietly ahead of everyone else. It would be their job to eliminate any sentries or wandering Gnolls that might happen upon them, as well as scout out just where they might have kept their hostage. Imoen was good enough with her knives from what her best friend had seen. She would certainly be a help to the ranger.

Minsc and Xan would follow behind, of course, and hold and secure any forward position they managed to take. They would wait for the ranger and Imoen to make a sweep, and then move in to provide a rallying point should the others have to fall back. More than anything, they would protect their only way back out of the keep without charging through hordes of Gnolls – the rope. Eve had helped Kivan and Minsc with it all day, binding together grass and stripped bark and anything they could find amidst the brush until it was sturdy enough to hold even the towering Rashemi. But first … they would have to get it up and over that wall.

When she was finished explaining the plan to everyone, Minsc and Xan nodded, the first slamming a fist into his hand eagerly. The mage only looked grim. Imoen was frowning at her best friend apprehensively. Kivan fixed her with a hard eye.

"What?" she demanded of him. But he shook his head and forgot whatever he was going to say.

"I don't see why it has to be you," he whispered aloud instead. "I would be a better choice, or even the girl. We will be the first to move either way."

"It has to be me because it's _my_ plan," Eve told him simply, shouldering her pack and checking the fastenings on her staff that bound it across her back. The pack had been emptied an hour ago, and now only the coiled length of rope lay within. She looked up toward the ramparts above.

"But if anything goes wrong …"

"If anything goes wrong, it will be my fault," she spoke over him quickly. "And I will be the one to deal with it." She would not have dared let anyone else go in her stead. It was bad enough that they were there and risking themselves so foolishly at all. The least she could do was minimize that risk.

"Do you even know how to climb?" Kivan muttered angrily. For her part, Evelyn merely stuck her hands out and took hold of the ancient stone.

"I think we're about to find out …"

She started up … slowly. The old stone walls were falling apart, that much was true, and it was not as difficult as it might have been decades ago to find hand and footholds in loose bricks and notches in the work. Vines scoured its length as well, and they made for good supports where they were not withered and dried to husks. The wall was slightly tilted inwards, besides, so at least she wasn't climbing straight up … not exactly. All in all, it wasn't that hard.

She knew why Imoen and Kivan had both given her such odd looks of late though, the one seeming worried and put off while the other was more curious and surprised than frightened by it. And by it, she meant herself. She had been acting strangely of late, that was true – even more strangely than she should have been acting, that is. It had hardly escaped her_own_ notice. She had been more willing to dismiss it just then than even they had, however. But she had a much greater reason not to than they could possibly understand.

Ever since that night when she had drained the assassin of her life in order to save her own, Evelyn had felt different inside. At first it had been a hollowness she had felt, a desolate pit deep down inside her yawning wide. But then she started to see things around her just a little bit differently, understanding them in a cold, calculated way that she had never truly been capable of before. It was a piece of the assassin inside her, left behind. It must be. She could think of no other explanation. And she had tried so many to avoid _that_.

The idea of it should have frightened her, terribly – and it did – but she had forced herself to ignore it. It had helped her survive those past few days with a calm certainty born of experience that she did not have. And nothing terrible had come of it … yet. At least nothing worse than she had already done on her own …

She reached the top, hugging the stone wall tightly as she wrapped one hand around the lip of crenellated stone. She paused for a moment just to marvel at the fact that she had succeeded in climbing all that way at all. It was not as if she had had much choice … but the ranger had been right to doubt. She had never climbed anything like that before in her life.

She didn't know whether it was another woman's spirit or memories, buried deep down inside of her, that had seen her to the top, or simply a calm willingness and lack of fear just then. But it would have to wait, just as it had always had to before. The hard part hadn't even begun.

Evelyn pulled herself up slowly, carefully listening for anything that might have given the presence of another away. When she heard nothing, however, she peeked up and over the edge. A giant wolf's head was there waiting.

Nearly screaming out in surprise, she almost lost her grip on the stone, scrabbling wildly against it as she toppled back. But she caught herself, and managed to stifle her cry. Those dark eyes had been closed.

It was sleeping.

_Clumsy._

Before she could decide just what to do next, though, Evelyn heard a loud grunt. She bobbed hastily back down as far as she could on the other side of the stone.

Then she heard the Gnoll, giving a loud yawn that almost sounded like a whimper. It had not seen her yet, though … she hoped. She reached one arm back and started quietly undoing the bindings upon her staff.

_Careful …_

The thing was moving – heavy steps thudding against rock as it edged nearer the crenellated stone. It poked into view above, its grizzled head gazing out into the night. The ashwood came slowly free in her hand.

The Gnoll started sniffing the air. It head inched around toward her. She took a deep breath.

_Now!_

Thrusting herself upward with her hands and feet and as much strength as she could muster, she threw herself onto the space between the crenels, her feet landing just on the edge. The Gnoll whipped its massive head toward her in surprise, black eyes glaring. She teetered for one terrible moment, arms flung desperately out. And then suddenly she was leaping forward again, onto the ramparts, staff swinging wide with all the force that she could muster. It took the beast straight in the chest just as it opened its jaws wide.

With a loud grunt, the monster toppled backwards and over the side of the wall without even breath enough for a howl of surprise. She stopped, and listened until she heard the distant thud below. She hoped it hadn't hit anyone.

She looked around quickly to the open space atop the walls just beyond, anxious to see if any more had caught notice. But none had. Instead, about a dozen of the beasts lay scattered about in small packs, sleeping in ragged bedrolls around small fires. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment.

The rope was bound tightly to one of the crenels and tumbling soundlessly down to the others below almost immediately, and it wasn't long before the ranger was hauling himself up over the edge. Evelyn stuck a finger to her lips, and gestured silently toward the slumbering shapes beyond.

"We have to kill them," Kivan whispered to her as Imoen's head thrust into view over the wall. The other woman tumbled over and down to the stone with a grunt. The two looked at her sharply.

"Sorry …"

Evelyn rounded back upon the ranger. "And how do you suggest we do that?" she demanded. The other merely pulled free his knife. But she shook her head. "There are too many! We couldn't risk not having one of them wake up."

The ranger frowned deeply, but eventually replaced the knife at his belt. And then Xan was climbing over the edge.

"Hopeless," the mage muttered after a moment, his forlorn eyes taking in sight of the sleeping Gnolls. "What do you propose we do now exactly?" Even Imoen looked shaken, though she gave her best friend a smile when she caught her look.

Minsc was the last to come up the rope and over, and the giant Rashemi wasted no time in pulling free his great sword. But Evelyn was quickly pushing him back and keeping him quiet. "Not yet! Not yet!" she hissed. "Soon …" After a moment, the man replaced the blade across his back. His hands still shook with rage, though.

A few of the Gnolls had stirred, maybe. But none had woken. Fortunately for them, the beasts' snoring was extraordinarily loud.

"We still use the same plan," she told the others then. "Kivan, Imoen – you go ahead and see what you can find without being seen. We'll stay here and guard the rope." She didn't dare think what might happen if all of those Gnolls suddenly started waking up. If they lost the rope …

There was only one other way out of the keep.

Kivan nodded, and then took Imoen by the arm when she took too long to peel her eyes away from the sleeping Gnolls. Both of them were gone without a sound.

She regretted sending Imoen almost instantly, knowing that she should never have let her friend be risked to so dangerous a task that the ranger might probably have done better himself. But she knew there was no other way to do it and be safe without risking Kivan too much as well. If he got into any trouble … she could hardly expect him to be so lucky without someone else there to watch his back.

"This is suicide," Xan was whispering harshly after they had gone, unable to keep his eyes from the Gnolls. "As meaningless as it might be to fight the hour of our deaths, it is foolish to chase it so _blindly_."

"Then go back, Xan." She gave him a level look. "You saved my life. You don't owe me anything more now."

He stared at her for a moment. But then he turned away, muttering something she couldn't quite make out. It sounded like Elvish. His shoulders slumped as he looked out across those scattered campfires once more.

The mage was not the one she was worried about, though – not the most anyways. Minsc was standing still where she had left him, but she couldn't possibly be sure just how long that would last. His great chest was rising and falling slowly, but surely, and she could see the hate in his eyes as they poured over the sleeping Gnolls as well. His mighty hands twitched.

"Just wait a little longer," she was resting a hand gently on the Rashemi's arm. "Just a little longer …"

Minsc looked down at her in surprise, seeming almost to have forgotten all about them. But then he nodded his large head, and seemed to calm himself somewhat. "Minsc will wait."

Some time later – it was not long – a sound from behind brought Evelyn wheeling about, staff in hand, toward the opening in the stone that led away from that open space. It was only Imoen, though, and the ranger was swift on her heels.

"What happened?" Evelyn demanded instantly. "Did they see you?" They had returned far sooner than she had thought.

"We found her," the ranger said simply. "She was not difficult to find being the only captive left uneaten." Imoen seemed to pale beside him at the mention of it, and he frowned at her before turning back toward Eve. "We saw much of what had become of their other captives before finding her."

"How far is it?" she asked then.

"Far enough to be dangerous," he gave her a hard look. "But not so far as to be impossible."

"Did you try and speak with her – get her away?"

Kivan gave her another look as if she were a fool to even ask. Maybe she was. But still …

"Of course I did. Or would have," he muttered quietly. "But they are guarding her." Evelyn arched an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head. "There were too many."

"All right then," she nodded, more to herself than to the others, and then took a steadying breath. "Shall we?"

They moved carefully … and as quietly as possible. Xan proved far more capable of it than she would have thought of him – though, on second thought, he _was_ an Elf. So it was only to be expected, she supposed. But Minsc was another story altogether. Even for all his bulk he made barely a sound at their rear. She dismissed her surprise quickly, however. It was just as well that he did.

An open passage greeted them just beyond the makeshift campsite of the Gnolls behind, a causeway leading out and across the crumbling ramparts of the weathered fortress. They could see over the crenellated stone to courtyards below, more often than not containing dozens upon dozens more of the bulky, huddled shapes of sleeping Gnolls. Eve only stared wide-eyed as they passed. Kivan had been right. There must have been hundreds.

After that, she kept low. Firelight scoured the lengths of the courtyards down there, but they were too far away to reach them. Still, those odds suddenly made her feel a little sick now that she came face to face with them. There was nothing for it then, though, and she kept it from her face. They had already come that far.

Kivan led them on and down a flight of stone steps, crouching low as they did so and gesturing for the others to do the same. When they had reached the bottom he brought them to a halt, and then pulled Evelyn close.

"She is over there," he pointed across the broad courtyard at the bottom of the steps. Eve looked and saw more of the wolf-headed beasts huddled around campfires, a few of them squatting around and wide awake. A couple even trudged around alone or in pairs, scanning the night about. But she didn't see any prisoners.

"Where?" She shook her head.

The ranger pointed again. "There. There is a pit. The area will be darker."

She had to squint in the blackness. But then she caught sight of the edge of it, illuminated briefly by the flickering of a fire off to the side. One of the beasts sat beside it. A guard, she supposed.

"We missed it nearly three times in passing," he whispered. "But one of the Gnolls threw some meat down inside, and we heard a woman's voice call up to them soon after. Whoever she is," he muttered, "she is clever enough to have found a way to convince them to spare her life."

Evelyn nodded her head, but stopped listening. Instead her eyes were intent upon the Gnolls scattered about. The patrols were small, and haphazard. They moved in and out of sight and they could probably avoid them if they were quick enough. The problem was the half-dozen or so of the wolf-headed beasts that were milling about the pit where Dynaheir was being kept. A few of them might have been sleeping – she wasn't sure – but that would still leave at least three that would have to be silenced before they could move. If two more of them had been as skilled as Kivan and with bows … And they would still have to get her out of that pit …

"Kivan."

"Yes?"

"Those three," she pointed to the Gnolls near the pit that were still awake. "Can you take care of them?"

The ranger looked past her, but then shook his head. "I will try."

"Good. Minsc?"

The giant warrior was crouching closer.

"You and Xan go back to the rope and guard it. We'll meet you there soon."

The Rashemi gave the Gnolls about them a crestfallen look, but at her hard eye, nodded his tattooed head reluctantly.

"I think it would be prudent …"

"No," Eve broke in over the mage quickly. "Go. Now!"

And then she turned to the pink-haired woman. "Imoen–"

"I'm staying with you," her best friend declared firmly, crossing her arms. Eve opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She turned back toward the courtyard.

"Alright …"

The ranger already had an arrow nocked and ready. "What do you plan to do?"

But she kept her eyes on the pit ahead across the courtyard, pulling the empty pack from her back and taking it in hand. She laid her staff on the ground. "Just kill those three quickly," she said, "and quietly. If they see me … hurry to Xan and Minsc. Don't look back."

She waited then … until the last patrol trudged just out of sight into the shadows.

"Do it! Now!"

An arrow was hissing free before she even opened her mouth, another to the string and loosed almost before she had finished. The first plunged deep into one of the Gnolls' necks, its back turned, and the other took its companion through the throat. The third leapt to its feet in surprise.

Another shaft bloomed in the last beast's chest, but that was not enough to silence it. Evelyn had already leapt to her feet, charging toward the pit and where Dynaheir would be. She did not slow. She couldn't. The thing's jaws flew wide.

A knife hissed past her head and sliced through the Gnolls' throat, cutting off its howl abruptly. She only looked back long enough to see Imoen clenching both her fists triumphantly before Eve was leaping into the air and diving into stone. She slid the last few steps to the edge. And then she was thrusting the pack down inside.

"Here!"

Two dark eyes were looking up at her from the shadows below. She had judged the depth well at least.

"Grab it!"

Something snaked out of the gloom and took hold of the shoulder strap of the pack that hung down. She hoped it was the woman they had come to rescue. She pulled.

Slim, dark-skinned arms came into sight as Evelyn heaved up with all her might, hoping the pack wouldn't tear. It would be just her luck. But then something was stirring beside her.

One of the slumbering Gnolls woke, casting a sleepy eye around to the wolf-headed corpses that surrounded it. Then it whipped about onto all fours, its seamless eyes boring into her. Its jaws opened wide.

She kept pulling, unable to stop as the thing barked and then snapped its gaping maw for her head. An arrow took it in the back. And then a dagger followed. It fell, writhing, to the ground.

Browned hands were cresting the edge of the pit, and Eve dived forward, snatching them up. She pulled the rest of their owner up and into view on the stone above – a dark-skinned woman with a chest's worth of jewelry dangling from her neck and around her face, draped in worn violet robes. Who she hoped was Dynaheir glanced quickly around before coming back to her.

"And how didst thee plan on escaping?" she asked, a thick accent similar to Minsc's heavy on her tongue.

Evelyn pulled free Fuller's dagger and brought it quickly down into the chest of another Gnoll as it struggled awake, the thing whimpering as steel pierced flesh. She plucked it free.

"Follow me."

She was charging hard for the other side of the courtyard and the stone steps, the dark-skinned woman on her heels a moment later. Kivan leapt out of the shadows as they came near, thrusting the ashwood into her hand and then all but throwing her bodily back up the steps. Eve only looked back long enough to see him fire one … two arrows into the dark. And then he was flying up the steps after them.

A howl pierced the night.

Barking and growling started up everywhere. But none of them looked back. They crested the stairs and then were darting forward along the ramparts, back toward the rope.

_Minsc, Xan … gods help me if you don't …_

Eve darted around the last corner along the ramparts … and then straight into the massive chest of a Gnoll. It stumbled backward in surprise – hardly for her sudden weight, at least – but then the dagger was back in hand and slicing instantly across its throat. She leapt over it as it fell, howling … and right into another.

She was back in their campsite atop the stone walls, dozens of the beasts rousing everywhere from their sleep as the barking continued into the night. It was a warning – an alarm – she was sure. Soon the whole place would be up in arms. They had to get out.

The Gnoll in front of her was still half-awake, as were more of the others, and barely aware of just what was going on … yet. Evelyn whipped around and sent the ashwood staff crashing into its thick skull. It tumbled to the ground with a loud grunt. She leapt forward to the next.

Dagger in one hand, staff in the other, she stabbed and thrust and spun and cracked as many skulls that got in her way as possible, vaguely aware of Imoen and the others behind her doing just the same. There were too many, though, and they had only gotten lucky in being quick. Suddenly the giant Rashemi was in front of her, looming out of the dark.

Minsc roared aloud, sweeping his massive blade around and felling two of the wolf-headed beasts like some kind of woodcutter butchering small trees. They were much bigger than him, though. And Xan stood just behind him, abruptly throwing both his hands up as he shouted something aloud, a small group of Gnolls that had just moved to pounce on the man beside him then falling in their tracks. Eve hardly knew if they were dead or not, but it didn't matter just then. That they had both survived was enough.

"I doubt we can hold this much longer," the mage was saying grimly, his solemn voice somehow louder than the chaos about. Minsc suddenly caught one of the things as it leapt for his throat, thrusting it up over his head and out over the wall.

"Dynaheir!" the Rashemi bellowed as he caught sight of the dark-skinned woman beyond. "Minsc's witch is freed!" For a moment, he forgot about the Gnolls still rousing about.

"We can't stay here!" Evelyn was shouting at them. "There isn't enough time!" The dozen or so Gnolls that still stood well enough to fight had finally gathered their senses, and begun to organize. She could see them moving quickly for the small band of intruders. "Follow me!"

It was hard to turn away – too hard. But she did. There was no time to get them all down that rope to safety. They only had one other chance. She was leaping back over corpses and wounded Gnolls, charging back along the ramparts as fast as she could. There was one other way out.

Back out atop the narrow passage along the wall, more of the beasts bounded up before her. They were just as surprised to see her barreling out of the chaos behind and around the corner into them as she was to meet others so soon. But she had been ready. Ducking down to one knee, she struck the ashwood hard along the side of the first, sending it toppling over the crenellated side. The next she stabbed with the butt of her staff, forcing it back into the others. She leapt over them as they lay there in a tangle.

"Come on!" she cried back over her shoulder, hearing the others close behind. Someone did the honors of putting steel to the Gnolls she had knocked down. And then she was flying back down the stone steps toward the courtyards below.

There were a few groups of Gnolls still scattered about the stone plaza, trying to find the source of the confusion and the alarm. And then Evelyn was bursting out into it just in front of them, hoping the others were just behind her. She flew into the nearest group, ashwood in hand.

Arrows started filling the night air about her then and a bulky form roared as it hurtled past, barreling into another of the Gnolls. Daggers flew and light flared. For a few moments, it turned the Gnolls back.

But then their numbers swelled. More of the beasts came loping out of the darkness, emptying from all parts of the fortress. Most of them didn't even have armor on or weapons in hand. They just came at the six intruders tooth and nail, leaping from the ramparts and bounding along hard stone. Their barking and howling filled the night.

They fought fiercely – Evelyn lost herself in it. Minsc was tearing through their ranks, vicious and unrelenting. For her part, Eve tried to match that speed and ferocity as best she could. It frightened enough of the beasts – their wild and desperate attack. But it was too little, and far too late.

Imoen stopped throwing knives. Sometime soon after, Kivan's arrows stopped hissing into eyes and throats and chests. Xan's light ceased flashing as well. She couldn't see Minsc or Dynaheir. And then Evelyn was alone, still whirling around with her staff, swinging it wide. The Gnolls stayed back from her though, and it was more to keep that distance between them than to actually do any damage that she kept moving. They were all around her.

The beasts stopped coming for her, pulling back out of reach though still keeping her firmly enclosed. She was the only one left. And there was nowhere to go.

She was alone.


	23. Chapter 3 Blood and Fire

_**Blood and Fire **_

Evelyn finally let her hands fall, her wild swinging ended. She stood there, waiting, and breathing hard through clenched teeth as she glared about. The Gnolls only stared back at her though, tongues lolling out of their mouths and yellow teeth bared. They were waiting too.

Then the circle suddenly broke, and Evelyn straightened where she stood as a few Gnolls, larger than the rest, trod through.

"Rrrr, you surrender now!" the lead beast growled at her, snapping its jaws. Its fur was silver-streaked, and it wore a mantle of what looked like wolf pelts around its shoulders, crested at the shoulders with heads. "We have prize back. You foolish to try and take human witch from us!"

Evelyn looked past them, through the ring of Gnolls surrounding her. She could see the others – at least some of them – crouched together against the stone, a ring of Gnoll axes lowered at them. She couldn't tell if any of them were still alive or not.

The weight of it all came crashing down on her – a wave of despair threatening to wash her quickly away. They had lost – she had been a fool … such a fool …

She twisted around wildly, desperate for any hope … anything to cling on to. But there was nothing. She was the only one left. And she could hardly hope to kill them all.

The Gnoll barked at her once more, this time in its own tongue. She didn't understand, but the meaning was plain enough. But then she suddenly remembered something.

"I," she looked around quickly, "I challenge you!" She whipped the staff around, pointing it back at the one with the wolf-pelt mantle. "Whoever leads you … I challenge you!"

There was laughter then … or what sounded like it. It was more like rasped panting and grunting everywhere around her. But Eve remembered the Gnoll in the wilderness – Ludrug. It was a chance – a slim one, but a chance nonetheless. She could hardly defeat them all … but maybe just one …

The others were not all dead, of that she was sure. The Gnolls must have kept them alive for prisoners … or food, or something. But it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was getting them out of there.

One of the other lead Gnolls was pushing forward then, barking down at her. "Weaklingsss!" it growled, hefting a huge, wicked-looking axe. "Not of our kind! You no right to challenge! You die!" It leveled one fierce eye upon her along with the axe, the other closed permanently by the long scar that trailed over its socket. Its fur was white as snow.

The other Gnoll snapped at it from behind, clicking its jaws. "Modrun," it growled in warning. And then it continued in another tongue, barking and grunting what sounded like an upbraiding. The one – Modrun, she could only assume – finally relented, pulling back to the lead Gnoll's side. She thought that one must have been their chieftain.

"You have no right to challenge," the chieftain was saying to her, Modrun brought to heel beside it. "But we accept. You die quickly."

The lead Gnoll shrugged out of the wolf-pelt mantle easily, letting it gather down against the stone. "We add your skin to our trophies."

It was only then, as she suddenly looked close, that she realized that the mantle was not made from wolves' pelts. Instead she saw one of the massive heads that crested the shoulders for what it was … another Gnoll's. Her eyes went wide.

The Gnolls around them stepped back, letting the ring grow wider and wider as their chieftain stripped off various other ornaments – skulls and small bones mostly – until it stood there, naked but for its silvered fur. Evelyn took a step back.

She looked around quickly, but none of the others would interfere … at least she hoped. They all seemed as if they assumed she would die quickly just like their leader had said. And she was not entirely sure that she wouldn't. She remembered that day with Minsc and Ludrug. She was hardly strong enough to wrestle with that giant wolf herself. And that was what it looked very much as if it meant to do.

She caught sight of Imoen then – among the other where they had been tossed together like so many lifeless sacks of meet. Her best friend was looking at her, as wide-eyed and panick-stricken as she. Those eyes were still alive … for now. Kivan's face was down flat against stone. She could barely make out the others.

The staff slid down to her side, waiting. The other only lowered itself down to all fours. Evelyn swallowed hard.

Then it was loping toward her.

The chieftain was faster than Ludrug – impossibly faster. It began slowly, misleading her at first with an easy trot. Then it abruptly barreled forth with unearthly ferocity, bounding into the air above her, claws out and jaws wide. She barely had time to cry aloud in horror and surprise before she could throw herself hastily away. The massive beast took the stone beneath her instead. It exploded instantly into jagged pieces and dust.

Two black eyes fixed down on her. The thing started to rise slowly out of its own crater in the stone. That was enough for Evelyn. She scrambled back to her feet and stumbled away.

The silver-backed Gnoll rebounded easily, leaping back from the center of the ring. It slowed again, still eyeing her with those massive jaws hanging open. The Gnolls about watched in anxious silence.

She caught herself before she could get too close to those wolf-headed monsters just watching. The ashwood was clutched firmly in her hands. She could see it shaking. The chieftain began to circle the ring toward her. She started moving around in the opposite direction.

It came at her again, suddenly and without warning and this time even faster. One moment it was all the way over there and the next it was on top of her. She cried out suddenly as she just managed to roll away, feeling steel-like claws tearing into her flesh. Blood spilled out over her arm. The Gnoll only wheeled about calmly after. It didn't even bother to give chase as she staggered back. Those teeth clacked softly before it started slowly toward her again.

She had to do something – something useful, and quick. One arm clutched hard about the deep furrows in her arm, the other holding the useless staff, she was stumbling desperately away. The other was far stronger, and definitely faster than her too. It had only been testing her with those first attacks, toying with her like a cat would a mouse. Except those yellowed fangs and claws would tear her apart far faster than any cat–

Massive claws were swiping at her head again in an instant. It was on top of her once more, perched on its hind legs and sweeping viciously for her skull. She hopped backwards, barely ducking beneath and around those blows. Her arm was on fire. But it just kept coming. She hardly cared to stifle a few desperate cries. And then it suddenly pounced on her.

She toppled over backwards with a scream, turning it hastily into a roll, and just managed to force the massive beast over and away from her, jaws snapping viciously for her skull. She landed in a crouch, and spun quickly away.

The Gnoll chieftain was waiting for her … standing completely still and eyeing her easily from just across the courtyard. It shook its great, grizzled head.

_Hopeless_ …!

She wailed hard and loud in her mind, chomping through tears and blood and her lower lip.

She didn't bother to run this time. She just wavered there, staring down the great beast before her, for a moment. For a moment she realized just how impossible all of it really was. For a moment she thought of Imoen … and Kivan, and Minsc and Xan … they were dead. Or they would be very soon. And it would be her fault … all of it would be _her_ fault …

And then she got angry. It started to burn away the fear and raged on toward the wolf-headed monster that was standing in her way. It was anger at herself, but she turned it against the other. All she had to do was kill that mangy beast …

Her hands started to glow, softly. She didn't look down at them, feeling the anger fade. But she could feel the need for blood all the same. They didn't care if she died. They only cared that they were drowned in that sweet, divine ichor. The thirst was almost too much to bear.

Her hunger melted away almost as quickly as it had come, turning to a cold, hard, and calculated fervor. It remembered how the Gnoll chieftain had moved … its weakness and how they could be exploited. Its strengths and how they could be avoided …

She pushed that roughly away as well … and then there was just her. And the Gnoll. It had only been a few moments. But she could still _feel_ those others pawing away in the corners of her mind. They all had something to say … demanded to be heard. It made her want to scream.

The Gnoll lowered itself back to all fours slowly, readying to come at her again. Evelyn forced her thoughts to still, those others to be quiet. Jondalar's voice was the only one she wanted to hear just then.

The beast came at her, quick and hard. A moment more and it was leaping toward her, this time low. There was no time to move aside and escape it. She didn't even try. Instead she stuck the staff straight out …

… And stabbed it right in the nose.

The world seemed to just explode.

She was spinning, hurtling away. There was the sharpest pain in her arm, stabbing at it as if it would just tear it free. Then it went numb. The night blurred in her eyes. She couldn't feel the staff in it any longer. It took only a moment.

The Gnoll was thrashing wildly. Her head bounced off stone, ringing. But she could still hear those anguished mewlings. She threw herself back up from the ground without thinking, hauling along one useless side of her body.

The other had gone berserk. She blinked through tears at it staggering aimlessly about, flinging its limbs desperately and snapping at empty air. It tried vainly to nurse that one stricken spot. She had hardly ignored Minsc's battle with Ludrug. She had needed to know how to beat those things firsthand. And there was one weak spot, she was sure, that had been easy enough to hit.

She hardly gave the Gnoll enough time to recover. Her arm unfeeling, she still leapt for it instantly, cracking the ashwood over its skull as hard as she could with her good hand. Its great bulk went limp.

Evelyn stood, breathing hard. The chieftain was not dead. But she had won. She took her staff in that same hand, careful not to let her weak arm show. She had won. She strode away toward the others.

The circle broke around her, the Gnolls seeming in shock at their leader's defeat and undoubtedly unsure of just what to do about her right then. Evelyn pushed through without letting an ounce of her own uncertainty show. She was not the greater warrior – just luckier. But they couldn't know that. Not yet. She moved quickly toward Imoen and the others.

The Gnolls who had been guarding her friends hesitated as she neared, holding their axes at the ready. Evelyn only brought her staff up threateningly before her. They instantly backed away, casting unreadable glances at each other with their lupine faces.

Imoen was the first to leap to her feet, running forward to enfold her best friend quickly and as tightly as she could. "I can't believe it …" she breathed in the other's ear. Evelyn nearly dropped her staff, her eyes flinging wide at the sudden sharp pain stabbing her arm. "I thought we were dead …" Imoen shook her head, almost sobbing.

Evelyn pulled quickly away. "We need to hurry!" she whispered fiercely, straining against the pain she could feel welling up within her and was too afraid to show. "I don't know how long they'll hold back. Is everyone alright?"

Three of the Gnolls had had to keep Minsc pinned to the ground, but the giant Rashemi leapt to his feet instantly once they were gone, towering over the others and snatching up his blade quickly from where it lay several paces away. The strange, dark-skinned woman stood at his side, coolly and calmly looking about at the Gnolls. It was a striking contrast to the man nearly foaming at the mouth at the same view beside her.

Xan stood easily enough as well, seeming to have no more injury than a couple scratches. "I think 'alright' is far too strong a word," he lamented still, dusting himself off. She thought those scratches had probably been from being thrown to the ground. The ranger was another story.

"Kivan?" Evelyn asked almost hesitantly, looking down at the Elf. He had not stirred.

Imoen only shook her head as she crouched down with her best friend beside the fallen man. Evelyn turned his head aside, finding his eyes closed. Blood spilled out from his forehead.

"I didn't see it," the pink-haired woman was saying quietly at her elbow, stifling a sob. "I don't know …"

"He's still alive," was all Eve said. "Help me get him up." She certainly knew she wasn't strong enough to do it herself just then.

Between the two of them, they managed to liftthe ranger up from the ground, one limp arm about each of their shoulders. Evelyn made sure she took the left, still grimacing hard. "Come on," she grated. And then they were moving quickly away across the courtyard.

Everything was still, and silent, as they moved. Eve could almost hope that it would stay that way … that they would get away quickly and easily. They certainly deserved it after what they had been through. But then all of a sudden one figure exploded through the ranks of Gnolls, barking loud and fiercely at the small group of intruders. Evelyn recognized it instantly as the one-eyed Gnoll – Modrun. It started snapping back at the other beasts as well.

She hardly knew what the thing was saying, but she could imagine. Soon enough Gnoll axes were being brandished hesitantly, but with growing conviction. The six were forced quickly to a halt.

Modrun was still barking furiously at the others, thrusting one clawed hand toward the six intruders that now stood surrounded in the center of the courtyard. He was convincing them of how easily it would be to kill them, Eve was sure. But the Gnolls still held some reverence for her defeat of their leader. Too bad she wasn't a Gnoll … that was probably what they were thinking too.

The others didn't wait for her. It was a good thing. Evelyn felt her heart quickly sink. She nearly dropped Kivan and collapsed down to the stone. Minsc stepped in front of them, taking the point facing the one-eyed Gnoll, massive blade in hand and teeth firmly clenched. Xan had that gleaming blue blade in hand, fingers twitching in one hand as he muttered under his breath, face grim. She glanced over at Imoen. The other woman was as terrified as she. There were too many … far too many …

She had given everything she had already. She was sure they all had. And it had not been nearly enough before. There was so little left. Soft barking started sounding about them, growing in volume and ferver. Her arm was throbbed. Imoen was shaking her head slowly. Light sparked in the Elf's hand. Evelyn's knuckles cracked loudly about the staff.

"Stand back."

Before anyone else had thought to move, the dark-skinned woman suddenly was, gesturing with her arms. She strode out boldly a step before them, weaving easily past Minsc. Before anyone could do anything more, she began softly chanting.

Modrun abruptly howled – but it was too late. As the last of the archaic words spilled forth from the woman's lips, she thrust both hands forward … and suddenly everything was chaos.

A great gout of fire erupted forth from Dynaheir's outstretched hands, hurtling across the courtyard. It exploded right in the midst of the Gnolls. Dozens upon dozens of them suddenly went up in flame, barely enough time to howl aloud in surprise before charred and burning flesh was all that was left. Massive bodies flew in every direction around the blast, and the ranks of beasts crumbled instantly apart in a fiery torrent of flaming death and shrieking cries. Some died instantly, but not enough – not nearly enough. It all took just moments.

Modrun was roaring aloud into the night. His massive white frame came charging forward, straight through the fires that raged all about and the burning bodies of Gnolls. A small group of the beasts followed swiftly on his heels, undaunted.

And then one of the wolf-headed monsters yelped aloud suddenly before being abruptly cut off. Evelyn whipped her head back around toward the sound, coming from the opposite end of the courtyard, only to see one in a line of Gnolls suddenly cut down. Another soon followed, curved steel slicing vengefully through their midst.

The whole world seemed to fall apart in flames and ash about them. Gnolls were scattering everywhere in all directions, shrieking and howling. Flames licked the courtyard all over, and the smell of roasted flesh and fur was rank in the air. The coppery scent of blood soon drowned it out.

But then Modrun and his small band of Gnolls – the last of the chieftains entourage – were on top of them, determined beyond anything else to see the six who had caused so much destruction dead. The one-eyed Gnoll darted toward Dynaheir, intent upon hewing her apart with its axe. Minsc was instantly before it, catching the blade. Evelyn lost sight of them almost instantly. She suddenly had her own troubles to deal with.

She struck the first Gnoll that came at her square in the snout, taking it down as quickly as she could. She didn't care if it was dead. The next towered over her instantly, but she ducked beneath its axe, coming up between its ribs with Fuller's dagger in hand bad hand, roaring against the pain. As it fell away, another axe head swept toward her skull. Light suddenly struck the beast holding it in the chest, toppling it over.

She had dropped Kivan, as had Imoen, too intent upon the wolf-headed monsters charging toward them to spare him any more mind. The pink-haired woman was just a few steps away, leaping aside as one of those axes crashed down into the stone below. A dagger plunged deep into the beast's neck.

Minsc and Modrun were snapping at each other, one with a mighty, two-handed axe in hand, and the other with his great sword tearing angrily through the night air. That one eye burned darkly, and met only with hate in the other's.

Evelyn tore herself away long enough to stare in wonder and horror across the courtyard. The Elven looking man spinning through the ranks of remaining Gnolls, two scimitars in hand flashing wildly, and the dusky-skinned woman beside him striking like a viper with her oaken staff were all too familiar a sight … and yet, impossible. But soon all the Gnolls around them had fled or fallen howling, and only the two were left standing amidst the carnage. She dropped her staff, stumbling a step toward them. It was surreal.

The woman started towards her as well, jogging quickly across the stone with the man in tow, his scimitars still whipping through the air as if he expected some attack from all the Gnolls they had strewn lifeless about. Evelyn took another faltering step toward them, still not believing. But then the dusky-skinned woman was raising a hand in warning, and shouting something at her.

Evelyn turned … but she was too slow … far, far too slow. The axe head sweeping about to meet her neck as she did was all too real for her then.

Everything seemed to slow, and the only thing she could think of in that terrible moment was the bridge two days ago … when she had nearly died. She felt the steel slice through the air, cutting clean toward her neck. And blind panic seized her for one terrible moment. She froze.

Something barreled past her, meeting the axe before her neck ever could. A hand forced her back. And then she could hear the sound of leather shredding as steel tore into it. The ranger stood before her, hunched over, blood smearing one side of his face.

Everything came back in a rush, making her dizzy. Kivan grunted, gasped, turned aside long enough to thrust his dagger through the eye of the Gnoll, and then fell.

Evelyn stood, frozen still. But then she was falling too.

She was dimly aware of the battle coming to an end around her, the last Gnoll to fall being Modrun as Minsc spitted the one-eyed beast on the full length of his massive blade. Evelyn collapsed to her knees, oblivious. She stared down in wide-eyed horror at the ranger beneath her.

Kivan lay on his back, his legs folded haphazardly beneath him, a wound gaping wide in the side of his chest. He had his eyes fixed firmly on hers, his jaw clenched tight. She was sure he couldn't breathe. He was trembling uncontrollably, trying to do just that.

His hand clutched at hers, nearly crushing it as those dark eyes bored into her out of sockets stained red with blood. They were trying to tell her something – something angry, she knew. It was her fault. It was all her fault.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her chest rattling. "It was foolish of me … I was so foolish … I'm sorry …"

But he didn't answer her … only kept burning into her with those fierce eyes, unable to speak. He didn't have to.

Jaheira was at her shoulder, looking down. Evelyn twisted up to look at her. "Help him," she pleaded softly. "Please, help him."

But the other woman only shook her head. "I do not have that power, Evelyn. His wounds are too great." He had taken the Gnoll's axe right into his chest. It had been meant for her.

Evelyn turned away. She was dimly aware of the others gathering around. They had all survived.

"No …" she breathed, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "Not like this …" Not for her …

She looked back down, but Kivan's eyes had closed. He still clenched her hand tightly, however, though it was quickly growing weaker by the moment. She squeezed back fiercely. And then she bent down to his ear.

"Hold on," she whispered softly so only he could hear. "Just hold on …"

She let go and moved both of her hands toward Kivan's chest, just short of the gaping wound. And then she let those voices tear at her anew from the back of her head.

She willed something up from the very core of her being, that same beast she had summoned before. It lashed out at her at first, screaming wildly to drink deeply of the energy it sensed before it – as weak as it was. But she squashed it instantly, and turned its power outward instead. She let it rush out through her hands and into the man beneath. A part of her went with it.

Jaheira was hissing something at her from behind, but she didn't hear. The ranger and her both went stiff and rigid in the same moment, the one gasping but making no sound, while the other was hardly quiet about it at all. Then air was screaming back into Kivan's lungs – she could feel it. For a moment, she felt everything. And with it, came pain.

She screamed as she felt a hole tear open inside her, mirroring that of the ranger's perfectly. But his was gone … she knew. There was only hers. Her flesh did not tear open. Blood didn't come pouring out. But the pain of it all screamed through her mind, burning every other thought to ash. That he would live was the last to go.

And then there was nothing at all.


	24. Chapter 3 Blood Hunt

_**Blood Hunt**_

It was morning when Evelyn opened her eyes again. Or at least, she thought it was. Blinking away sleep slowly, she looked beside her to the small fire that burned. It was night, she realized then. A man was sitting beside her, stirring the flames with a stick.

"Khalid?"

The half-Elven man turned aside at the weak sound of her voice, looking down to where she lay, huddled inside her own cloak next to the fire. He smiled at her.

"It is g-good to see you well, Evelyn."

"What happened?" she managed quietly, shaking her head. "Where are we?" Small trees sprouted around her in a grove, but they hardly matched the mountainous crags she remembered surrounding the Gnoll fortress. _The fortress_ …

"Where is Kivan? What about the others? Is everyone alright?" the words came out in a rush as she came wide awake, but their urgency was all but stifled by the overwhelming weakness she felt suffuse her. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't even lift herself up.

Khalid didn't answer her, though. Instead he looked away. "Jaheira?" Soon the bronze-skinned woman was hurrying into view, crouching down quickly beside Evelyn. For her part, Eve finally felt the full force of her surprise back at the fortress return at the sight of the other woman.

"How can you be _here_?" she asked incredulously. "You're supposed to be in Beregost."

But the woman ignored her, instead pushing a water skin into her hands and helping her lift her head to reach it. "You need to drink, and you need to eat," she ordered firmly, reaching back for some kind of dried meat to pass to her as well. "You have been sleeping for two days."

"Two–!" she suddenly choked, spluttering water everywhere down her tunic. "Two days!"

"Yes," the other woman told her simply. Evelyn realized then that she was lying atop some kind of makeshift litter fashioned from a large cloak tied between two branches. They must have carried her that whole way.

"What about the others?" She couldn't quite see in the dark she was so close to the light.

"They are fine. As foolish as this entire misadventure of yours has been," Jaheira shook her head, "you somehow succeeded."

"Kivan?" she pressed.

There was a pause, and Jaheira gave her husband a look that Evelyn did not see. "Fared better than you," she said at the last. "You will still need rest. Eat, and we will see how you feel in the morning." She stood abruptly, and moved away.

With little else to do, and feeling incredibly weak and tired still besides, Eve did as she was told, finishing up the last of the jerky and the water she had been given. It was not much, but they had been running low on supplies after waiting so long to assault the Gnoll fortress. Kivan had spoken of taking some time to hunt before, but they had hardly had the chance. Still, it would not matter soon.

She needed to know what was going on – what would happen next. But it would wait. She doubted Khalid would tell her anyways, not if Jaheira had refrained from doing so … and she was so tired besides … so tired …

She let herself drift.

* * *

Evelyn awoke early the next morning, but it was only to being carried along in that makeshift litter, hanging between the two branches inside the cloak. She still felt incredibly weak … but better. Jaheira had more food and water given to her when she asked, this time far more than she had received before. The other woman only said something about feeding her too quickly when Eve remarked upon it, but she hardly heard. Each bite felt that much more invigorating than the last … unfortunately it was hardly enough for her to stand on her own two feet just yet.

She wondered why they had not waited … but then she had her answer when she caught her first sight of Kivan after seeing him nearly die two days ago. He hurried up alongside them from behind toward Jaheira at their lead. He barely spared Evelyn a glance as he passed.

They said something about being followed … by what, she couldn't quite make out. But Jaheira seemed agitated by it, as did the ranger. And they seemed to quicken their pace greatly at the news. Kivan vanished again behind them some time later.

"Ever wonder what would have become of us if he hadn't died?" Imoen asked at some point, trotting along at her best friend's side. "Gorion, I mean. Or if we can ever go back to Candlekeep after all that's happened? I feel so bad, like I'm angry at him for dying. Silly, huh?"

Her best friend had only been trying to keep her mood up. But Evelyn knew why the other woman really felt so bad. It was the same reason that made her look at Eve so strangely sometimes, as if she was seeing another person there. No one had said anything, but it was all too obvious that she had done something miraculous back at the fortress to bring the ranger back from the brink of death. No one knew just what that miraculous thing was. And it had frightened them. Of that, she was certain.

"Oh, well. I suppose it doesn't matter much anyways. Forget I said anything."

The giant Rashemi and his charge still followed them. For how long, Evelyn couldn't be sure. They had rescued Minsc's witch, Dynaheir, from the fortress and she had at least returned the favor he had granted her in saving her life back in Nashkel. As soon as they reached civilization again, she imagined they would go on their way. But every time she looked to the dark-skinned woman, her black eyes would be calmly returning the stare, coolly studying her from beside her guardian as he held the rear of her litter along with Khalid. It was unnerving and unsettling all at once. But she tried to pay it little mind. If it hadn't been for the woman's magicks … she didn't want to think of what might have happened to all of them instead.

Jaheira finally found time to explain just how both her and her husband had come to be at the fortress as well. Evelyn felt a little angry at the idea that they had followed after her so readily after parting ways. But they had finished their task, so the woman had told her, and they had done so quickly enough before hurriedly picking up and following the others' trail. They had found the man, Tranzig, in Beregost, and interrogated him. They knew where the bandit camp was – at least for now.

"We will need help in assaulting it," the woman had told her at one point, marching along briskly beside the litter. "They will be well fortified, to be sure, but unsuspecting we can only hope. Still, their numbers will be great. And I doubt any local garrison could be convinced to give us much aid, as tied as their hands are at the moment with keeping the roads as safe as possible. Perhaps your new friends might be persuaded to help."

She had left it at that – a subtle suggestion. But her meaning was clear enough. She would not be the one to ask. Evelyn had certainly done the two Rashemi a service in the other woman's mind. After all they had been through, though … she found it hard to even imagine asking them to risk themselves again.

Xan was another story altogether. The solemn mage still trudged along in their midst, sparing but few words for anyone. He had given them enough help already though – certainly enough to repay whatever debt he thought he owed her. But when she had mentioned it to him when he got near, he had only ignored her. And she was hardly in a position to argue just yet. They were heading back to Beregost. She was sure it could all be settled there.

Sometime, just before the sun had sunken fully behind them, the ranger burst back into view, this time coming toward them from the east rather than the south. He hurried right to Jaheira, sparing not a moment for anything else. Whatever they spoke of, as quiet as it was, did not seem to bode well.

Jaheira pushed on for some time thereafter, even more determined to put as much ground behind them as possible. Evelyn could not quite tell, what with the sun gone down and all, but it seemed as if they had turned farther north. Beregost would be more to the east, however. It all started to give her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. And she was hardly in any condition to do anything about it.

The night grew thick, and their progress slowed. Finally, the druid was forced to bring them to a halt. There would be no fire that evening, and there would be a strict watch.

* * *

"Do you know anything about her?" Jaheira asked quietly as she dropped down beside Eve, the younger woman lying in her litter and cloak. Most of the others had gone to sleep.

Evelyn shook her head, sitting up slowly to take the water and food that the other woman offered. "No. I've barely spoken to her since that night." She had enough strength in her bad arm to use it well enough, though it still left her a little dizzy to sit up straight for too long. Whatever happened, she had resolved to walk on her own tomorrow.

"Unfortunately we all need rest, or I wouldn't even ask," the other woman was saying. "But I hesitate to leave her or her guardian on watch. Even Imoen would seem capable enough to be trusted with it … but I do not know these two, or their motives. Minsc might have been almost trustworthy before, but it is very clear to me that the Wychlaran guides all of his actions. And she is far more than she seems."

"I think you can trust Minsc enough by himself," she offered simply, chewing vigorously at some more dried meat. She swallowed it down with some water.

"Perhaps." The other woman watched her then as she ate. Evelyn let her.

They sat in silence for some time. Eve was vaguely aware of Khalid somewhere nearby, perched and ready should anything come that way. Once she was finished eating, the raven-haired woman gave him a thoughtful look.

"Who is following us?" she asked abruptly then.

The older woman merely pursed her lips. "Not who," she told Evelyn, "but what." And then she gave her a hard look. "Gnolls. Many of them if what the Elf says is to true."

"How many?"

"Several dozen." The woman sighed heavily. "It seems they are intent upon vengeance for what was done to their tribe … or something of the like. We were fortunate that it took them so long to recover their wits. Not that I would be overly intimidated by them in the first place."

Evelyn blinked in surprise. "What are we doing?" she demanded instantly. "Trying to outrun them?" A brief flash of memory of those beasts loping all about on all fours as they closed in suddenly made that seem worse than impossible. "We have to lose them," she almost snapped. "Or find somewhere to fight them. What about those hills over there." She pointed away east.

Jaheira shook her head quickly, however. "The Elf has been tracking their movements. They have already swept around to our eastern flank. It seems they are trying to keep us from any towns or such that might help us or offer us shelter. They are proving far cleverer than I could have hoped."

Evelyn stopped eating for a moment, briefly, glancing up at the druid. She nodded her head numbly. There was only one reason why they were in that mess at all.

"North, then?" Eve looked away. The other woman nodded.

"That has been the only other option thus far. Unless you would like to suggest we turn back west or south."

Evelyn shook her head. They could hardly hope to reach the coast or the Cloudpeak Mountains before being caught, she supposed. Not that either course would have availed them much.

"But the woodlands to the north might allow us an ambush, at least," the other continued. "I would not dare assume too much, but to take on an entire fortress of the beasts … thirty or so should not be so great an obstacle as that."

Evelyn felt the sting of her words, unsure of whether or not she had actually meant to scold, or was just stating what she believed. It had been foolish to assault the fortress, certainly … but that was over and done with. And they had survived. She could hardly be faulted for that.

"The Elf is already out scouting for a good position."

Jaheira gave her another hard look, and she knew just what she was thinking about then. Evelyn let it go for a moment, trying to ignore it as she had so often before. But then she finally opened her mouth, working up the courage to speak. The other woman beat her to it, however.

"I do not know what has come over you, Evelyn," she began in an even, almost icy tone, "and I could hardly pretend to know just what Gorion might have done all those years he raised you. But I do know that we will speak of this much when there is time. When there is time," she repeated. "But for now … I expect you to warn me if anything amiss should happen with you at all. You might have saved the Elf back at the fortress, but you nearly killed yourself in doing so. I will not have surprises like that again. Not when the life of a good friend's only child is very much at stake."

Evelyn opened her mouth again to answer, but snapped it shut immediately, thinking better of the words. _So much for being careful in the future_, she thought bitterly. And then she met Jaheira's hard eyes with her own.

"Don't worry about me, Jaheira," she told her firmly instead, "I can–"

"I worry very _much_ about you, Evelyn!" the half-Elven woman cut her off angrily, though still managing to keep quiet. "Your father is barely cold in the ground and already you are so very changed!" Her face had broken for one terrible moment, and all the emotion she had sought to hide was plain enough for Evelyn to see. But then she caught herself, and took a steadying breath. It all happened so fast, Eve was only left blinking in surprise.

"There must be balance," she began anew, almost as if reassuring herself. "We will correct that balance by destroying this evil that saw fit to end the life of a good man. But we will not create an even greater evil in its own ashes."

Evelyn abruptly stiffened at that, anger of her own bubbling to the surface. She faced the other woman down with ice of her own. "If you think me evil then you have severely misjudged me."

A monster maybe … but not evil.

But Jaheira only frowned sadly. "It is not that I think you evil, Evelyn … or even capable of it … now. But I have seen others go down this same path. You would not be the first to meet a tragic end after beginning with such upright intentions."

They remained there for some time, staring at each other in silence. The one persisted with a pained, almost mournful look at the fact that that conversation had ever had to happen at all, while the other merely held her ground staunchly, though inside she threatened to break. Finally, the older woman reached forward and pulled Evelyn to her, wrapping her in a warm embrace.

"Promise me," the other whispered fiercely into her ear, "that when this is over … you will be at peace … that you will be careful …"

The raven-haired woman let herself slump, tired of holding up her guard, and then tightened her grip upon the other woman. She nodded her head slowly into Jaheira's shoulder. "I promise … I'll be careful …" She could hardly help a few tears leaking at the corners of her eyes. They were not the first, and they would hardly be the last before the end.

"Alright," the older woman said, standing. She sniffed, scrubbing quickly at her eyes, but then her voice was as cool and calm as ever. Still, it made Eve feel a little better to know that even someone as strong as Jaheira could weep too.

"Get some rest," the other told her. "There will be death tomorrow, of that there is no doubt. But someday," she continued softly, "I promise you that there will not be." And then she was gone.

Eve only wished she could have believed her.

* * *

"Who could have _done_ this?"

Imoen was shaking her head furiously, nearly in tears with her eyes intent upon the carnage that lay ahead. It was a caravan that had been destroyed … though it was obvious by the bodies that it was no merchant's. Men, women, and even some young children lay strewn about, their bodies hacked viciously apart. Even the horses had been torn to bloody pieces.

"We should have skirted around!" Kivan was hissing at their back. They were crouched low on the outskirts of the campsite that had been butchered so ruthlessly, still concealed within the brush and trees. Jaheira did not look at him, but her voice took a hard edge all the same.

"We could not afford the time," she stated irritably, "not if we are to head the Gnolls off and even our odds. Besides, you said there was nothing left here alive."

"But that does not mean their murderers have not come back!" he persisted. "Or that they even left. I also told you that I had no time to look!"

The half-Elven woman frowned, but did not relent. "Be that as it may," she said then, "we have little choice. We continue here." She gave her husband an unreadable look, and nodded.

Khalid leapt out from their cover, scimitars in hand and ready for anything that might still be lurking beyond and waiting for prey. Jaheira raised a hand when some of the others tried to rise to their feet to follow, waving them back. "Wait," she said simply.

The half-Elven man moved slowly into the camp, surveying the bodies all around. Kivan had obeyed the druid's quiet warning, but still drew an arrow quickly to his bow. Eve only leaned harder on the ashwood pitted in the dirt before her.

From what she could see, even though the lot of them had been completely butchered, they had not been caught by surprise. There were no few men, garbed in chain and stout leathers, swords, axes, and clubs in hand or nearby. Even some of the women and the children, no more than fifteen or so, bore weapons as well, and had died fighting it seemed. They had come there for a fight … or at least had expected one. But whatever had taken them … they hadn't stood a chance.

"Bandits did not do this," Kivan was muttering beside her. He gave her a hard look, but she had already realized that very same thing as well. They were very far from any roads still. And those people had not brought valuables – even their iron had not been taken, still lying scattered around in hands severed from their bodies more often than not. No … something terrible had done all this.

Khalid had made his way into the center of the camp, still wading through the bloodshed and careful for any signs of danger. But then he abruptly stopped, and had a scimitar leveled at the earth. In another moment, he had them sheathed and was crouching down low.

The others grew anxious then – Evelyn knew she did at least – as they lost sight of the man for a moment. But then he immediately reappeared, pulling a battered figure into view. It was a woman, sheathed in leather, a broken buckler at her wrist. Blood poured down half her face, and she was nearly collapsing in tears.

Evelyn nearly leapt to her feet, as did Imoen, but the druid held them fiercely back with another hand. They settled back down reluctantly.

"Run!" the battered woman sobbed loudly, shaking in Khalid's grasp. "Please, I beg of you … GO!"

"Stay here!" Jaheira suddenly barked at them before leaping to her feet and crossing quickly into the campsite toward her husband and the woman. For the moment, everyone else stayed where they were.

The woman nearly screamed as she saw Jaheira suddenly appear out of the brush and hurry toward her. She pulled violently away from Khalid, but seemed to realize that the half-Elven woman was not a threat as she came to a halt beside her husband – or at least that the druid was not the same threat of which the woman was truly afraid.

"What happened here?" Jaheira demanded quickly, but the other woman only stood there, trembling violently and shaking her head.

"Run," she kept repeating, almost to herself, "Run." The two half-Elves shared a quiet look.

"Please," the druid softened the edge in her voice then, taking a step closer, "tell me what happened here. Who are you? Who did this?"

The woman steadied herself somewhat, but kept shaking her head as she sobbed, staring into the bloodied dirt. "Laryssa," she said suddenly then, "I am Laryssa. I was his cousin." And then the momentary sanity was gone once more. "His _cousin_!"

Jaheira ignored her outburst, keeping her voice soft and steady. "What happened here, Laryssa?"

And then the woman abruptly looked at her, eyes aflame and full of horror. "BRAGE!" she nearly shrieked. But then she dissolved into tears once again. "We were his kin. He murdered us without a second thought! Everyone …"

The half-Elven woman seemed taken aback. "Commander Brage?" she asked then, "of the Nashkel Guard?" But the woman wasn't listening.

"We gathered all of us together," she was saying to herself, seeming to forget all about them. "We were going to find him … reason with him … bring him back. We knew he might be mad … but … but we couldn't have imagined," she started shaking her head wildly. "Not this! Not this!"

Evelyn got to her feet then, pushing hard on the earth with her staff. Kivan tried to stop her, but she was pushing forward and out into the clearing. Imoen leapt up beside her a moment later.

Jaheira gave her a fierce look as Eve strode up beside her, but the battered woman at least did not seem to panic at the sight of them. She had almost completely retreated from that world.

"Where is he, Laryssa?" Jaheira asked calmly. "Where did Brage go?"

The woman looked up at them sharply, her sobbing abruptly ceased. "Where did he go?" she breathed, almost in awe.

The half-Elven woman canted her head after a moment, impatient as the woman didn't answer. But then the other was shaking her head.

"He never left."

Before Jaheira could open her mouth once more, before the frown had even fully settled into her face – the brush exploded outward from behind the lone surviving woman, a massive shape hissing through. Laryssa only stiffened where she stood.

The woman opened her mouth then, to scream something at them, but they never found out just what. Before anyone could even move, a massive blade was hurtling through the air, and sweeping through the woman with her back to it. Evelyn only caught a glimmer of the terror in Laryssa's eyes before she exploded into two separate pieces.

Steel screamed through the clearing all about them then, Khalid's scimitars first and foremost among them as he darted in front of his wife, and then Xan and the Rashemi came spilling out into view. But the murderer, Brage, towering before them more beast than man in his tattered Nashkel chain and crimson, puffy sleeves, only brought his sword about and leveled it on them, holding his ground. His teeth were bared in a rictus smile, his chest heaving as his dark eyes took all of them in in turn. The madness there … it shook Eve to her very core as they finally flashed down toward hers.

"Greetings, playthings," the madman said eagerly, the massive blade still between them. "Thou hast found me, when I alone could not."

"Put down your weapon!" Jaheira barked at him angrily, stepping out from behind Khalid, oaken staff in hand. "Surrender, NOW!"

But the madman ignored her, instead moving the steel before him slowly to point to each of them in turn – marking their hearts it seemed to Eve. As crazed as he might have been, the blade did not shake at all. It was as still as stone.

"I pray you left a trail of crumbs to lead us all back again," he was saying quietly, almost calmly though that mad grin still split his face. "The others did not, so they have decided to stay. Shall we try to find the way home together? I pose to you a riddle, the answer to which I once knew, but now cannot perceive. Remind me, and we shall all return unto the day. Fail, and stay with me in the dark, forgetting whence we came …"

They stared at each other for long moments, the madman and the others who had merely stumbled upon that insanity. Evelyn turned around briefly as she heard Minsc and Dynaheir move up behind them, not having leapt into sight when Brage had first appeared. The dark-skinned woman was as unflappable as ever on the surface, but her bodyguard was seething beside her. Xan met her gaze briefly from one side as Evelyn turned back.

"Surrender, Brage," Jaheira warned dangerously. "I will not repeat myself again." The man only sneered at her, though.

And then he lowered his weapon.

All at once the steel was back up again and around in a flash, sweeping toward Khalid at her side. The half-Elven man ducked hastily beneath the blow even as it continued through toward Jaheira. But the half-Elven woman leapt hastily aside, rolling along the dirt. As Khalid came back up, scimitars in hand, Brage thrust a boot into his chest and sent him sprawling.

An arrow hissed through the air from beside Eve, but the man had moved too fast, and it only snagged in the rent mail. And then he was before Evelyn, towering over her.

She brought her staff up as quickly as she could, but he struck like lightning, and she was still far too weak to match him. One powerful arm snaked toward her and snatched at her throat, hauling her easily away into the air. She cried out as she nearly fell, twisting around. But then the lower half of the massive blade was held tightly against her neck.

"Eve!"

"I pose to you a riddle," the madman repeated excitedly. "We shall _all_ return unto the day … or stay here in the dark …"

He remained there, grinning out at the others while strangling Evelyn between one thick arm and a length of vicious steel. But the others made no further move. Imoen held a knife ready in her hand, fuming. Jaheira's eyes blazed.

"Will you be the sun?" Brage demanded again. "Or will we bathe here in the blood of the moon?"

Evelyn tried to twist around in the madman's grasp, but he held her too firmly for her to move, especially with that sharp edge forcing its way slowly into her throat. Kivan stood just some paces away, another arrow readied for the murderer's head. Eve shook her head as much as she could though when he caught sight of her, earning only a smear of blood along her throat. He couldn't possibly have been fast enough. The ranger bared his teeth angrily, but did not lower the bow.

Finally, Jaheira spoke.

"Pose your riddle then, Brage," the half-Elven woman voiced icily, her eyes narrowing. "But if you dare to kill _another_ innocent then I will send you _screaming_ in pieces back to the Mother." She whipped the heavy oaken staff about in her hands easily.

"Screaming, _yes_," he laughed. "We shall _all_ be _screaming_ soon!"

"No, Brage," the druid said softly. "Only you. Pose your riddle." The madman nodded vigorously, unperturbed.

"It has neither mouth, nor teeth," he began happily, "yet, it eats its food steadily. It has neither village, nor home, nor hands, nor feet; yet it wanders everywhere. It has neither country, nor means, nor office, nor pen; yet it is ready for fight – always. By day and by night there is wailing about it. It has no breath, yet to all it appears."

Jaheira looked sharply to her husband, but the other's eyes and scimitars were intent upon the madman Brage. He had no intention of answering, it seemed. Kivan too only drew tighter on his bow, ready to loose. And Imoen had another dagger in hand, ready if the first should miss. Dynaheir stood beyond them all, looking calmly from first one to another. Minsc was foaming beside her.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, sure just what would happen next. None of them would be fast enough. They should have known that from what little they had seen of Brage and what he could do thus far. She would be dead before they even had a chance. Only Jaheira seemed to realize. Eve remembered the bridge, fading away … she was not ready for that … not again.

There was silence, like the calm before a storm. And Evelyn waited for the storm. Brage's grip tightened upon her. She could hear leather creak. Jaheira turned back. Eve opened her mouth to scream.

"Death."

Nothing happened.

Evelyn opened her eyes, everyone else twisting about in surprise. The Elven mage only stiffened, not taking his eyes from the murderer. "The answer is Death," he repeated calmly.

Evelyn suddenly felt the steel fall away from her. She looked up, and Brage's face had gone slack, staring in horror at the Elf. "The end of night," he said quietly, awe-struck, overjoyed, and terrified beyond all rational thought all at once. He was painful to look at just then. "The light shines unto mine eyes and I can see clearly once again!"

He suddenly let Eve go. She stumbled away, rubbing a hand at her bleeding neck. And then Brage looked down to the butchered woman at his feet.

"What have I done?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. He fell to his knees, touching one hand gently to the mass of bloody locks wound about Laryssa's head. "Horrible … HORRIBLE!"

Eve took a step back, still staring in wonder at the madman commander as he knelt there before his dead kin. All of her fear and loathing had turned to pity in an instant. To have murdered all that he loved … she remembered seeing Gorion's face on the Dwarven bounty hunter back in Beregost. She couldn't imagine having ever been the one to murder him herself … it would have driven her mad.

Jaheira stepped up before the fallen man, pulling Evelyn behind. She lowered her staff to his chin, lifting it up. "Surrender, Brage. You have committed your last murder here today."

The man looked up at her, his dark eyes haunted, red, and full of tears. He sought the ground once more, shaking his head sadly.

"I will welcome the block that must await me at Nashkel," he said simply. "You must take me to the town that I might pay for my crimes. Too many good people have lost their lives to me. Please …"

"We will see you back as quickly as we can," Jaheira answered him calmly. "Now stand. Bind him." She gestured toward her husband as the commander stood.

"The mention of it gave him back his reason," Xan was muttering at Evelyn's side as Khalid fished some rope from his pack and began binding the man's wrists. He did not resist. "Immediately he demanded it to be dealt out to him in a lawful fashion, for the reason that he had caused it …" The mage looked at her then. "This man is almost as entangled with death as we are." And then he turned away.

"I still know not what led me to this," Brage said quietly once he was secure. "It was like a foul presence in my mind. I can only imagine that I have finally succumbed to battle fatigue." He shook his head. "Take my weapon," he kicked at the steel in the dirt, "that I might not harm another. I'd rather it be destroyed. Innocent blood on everything!" He spat on the blade. "I'd only just acquired the sword. Such a waste this has been. Take me to Nashkel, I can bear this tomb no longer."

Jaheira reached down and picked up the massive blade slowly, examining it in her hands. And then she frowned at it, and looked at the commander quickly. She turned toward her husband.

"There is evil in it," she whispered to Khalid, but Evelyn was close enough to hear. "I can feel it. But there is no time for it now. Bury it somewhere it will not be found, and quickly. We must hurry.

"You will come with us for now," Jaheira said aloud to the commander then as her husband took the sword and moved quietly away. Only Evelyn watched him go. And Dynaheir. "We cannot return to Nashkel just yet. There is another matter we must attend to first."

The man only slumped at that. "Do what you will," was all he said. "My fate is sealed." Jaheira only pursed her lips. Khalid returned sometime soon after.

"Come," the druid beckoned them on again then, taking the lead as she made north for the forests. Her husband prodded Brage along from behind with a sword. "We have little time."


	25. Chapter 3 Tooth and Nail

_**Tooth and Nail**_

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Imoen nearly jumped as Brage abruptly turned his dark eyes upon her, kneeling where he was upon the earth, his back perfectly straight. His dark hair was still as wild and unkempt as the rest of him, hardly having had a chance to fix it with his hands bound as they were, but his eyes were remarkably steady, if not untroubled. For her part, Imoen merely shrugged after a moment.

"I dunno. You don't seem all that evil to me."

The broad-shouldered man only shook his head slowly, however.

"It does not matter. A man cannot have done what I have done, and still be considered good. Helm would agree with me. I have not been vigilant against every evil. The greatest always comes from within."

The pink-haired woman left the man alone after that, wandering away. But Evelyn kept a close eye on him from the rock she had seated herself atop of, and not just because Jaheira had wanted her to. Dynaheir and Minsc were there as well. The ranger was out scouting.

Jaheira and her husband had formed a plan to ambush the Gnolls somewhere amongst those trees, using cover, speed, and superior tactics to hopefully win the day without much bloodshed. The older woman had deliberated with the ranger, and even included Evelyn as well, strangely enough. She hardly contributed much – they didn't need much more help, besides – but that one voice inside her seemed to agree with the soundness of it all. Or maybe it was Evelyn's own. She had a hard time telling anymore. But they had enough troubles just then to worry about already.

They were keeping out of sight then upon a small, wooded rise, thick brush all around them. Jaheira and Khalid had left to survey the surrounding terrain once more, deciding just which spots each of them would be positioned in, and making sure of just what else they might all do. She had left Imoen and Evelyn behind, telling the latter quietly to keep an eye on both their prisoner _and_ the Rashemi. The dark-skinned woman's eyes had been on them the entire time.

Xan was pacing back and forth off to one side, muttering something over and over under his breath. It all sounded familiar – Eve was sure she had heard him say some of those words when flinging magic about before – and she figured they were spells he was keeping firmly in his head. They were powerful enough from what she had seen, but Evelyn much preferred the solid ashwood staff in her hands far better. She noticed that the Elf's hands never strayed far from his Moonblade, though.

Imoen had not gone far, and Xan was still there besides, but Evelyn suddenly felt vulnerable there alone … with Brage and the two Rashemi. The commander had been brought to heel to be sure, and Minsc had seemed trustworthy enough so far … but she had seen the death his witch had done with her bare hands. And Evelyn hardly thought much of her chances should the woman start casting fire at _her_. And when the cool-eyed Rashemi started talking to her suddenly then, it made her feel all the more uncomfortable and exposed.

"I never had the opportunity to thank thee for saving me," Dynaheir spoke up calmly, her voice thick with that accent and as steady as she herself had always seemed. "'Twas courageous to follow the likes of Minsc into battle, if a touch foolish. I have had naught to offer thee in return, save my services in battle."

Evelyn tried to give her a smile, but she wasn't sure just how well it came out. "That has been more than enough so far. I don't know how we would have survived had it not been for you."

"Tell me," the woman cocked her head to one side, "what doth thee intend to do once mine old captors are disposed of? Return home? Duty and task complete?"

Evelyn shook her head, frowning. "No," she told her, "I don't have a home anymore. And there are some people we need to kill first. We're going to Beregost."

The dark-skinned woman studied her for another moment, and then pursed her lips. "Then mayhaps I could travel with thee awhile, and an opportunity may arise for repayment of mine debt. Minsc is… well … Minsc, but he hast a strong sword arm, whilst I am practiced in the arts magica, as thee must certainly know."

The raven-haired woman looked to the giant Rashemi, Minsc playing with that small hamster of his once more in his large hands. He paid them little notice.

"Why does he guard you?" she asked, ignoring the woman's offer for a moment. She could hardly have been so foolish as to trust her just yet. "I can't imagine someone that important wanting to help us."

The woman merely smiled at her, amused. She leaned forward.

"I am Dynaheir of Rasheman," she said simply. And then she shrugged at the look on Eve's face. "'Tis not a title; 'tis just where I am from." She cast her eyes briefly toward her guardian before turning back toward Evelyn. "We two are far afield of our home, but 'tis a necessary rite of passage. Minsc must make his 'dajemma' by seeking adventure, while I must prove my worth to my _sisters_ in much the same manner."

The dark-skinned woman shook her head, and leaned back.

"'Tis an interesting time for the Realms, with great things foretold for the Sword Coast. 'Tis therefore a likely place to look for what we need. What dost thou seek on this adventurous road?" she asked of Eve suddenly then. "Mayhaps we can all find what we need together?"

Evelyn did not answer her though, not just yet. Instead she looked away toward Brage, still kneeling with his eyes closed and oblivious to everything that went on about him. Or not. Not that there was much. Yet.

"Maybe you can help us," she offered quietly then, turning back toward the other woman. "We're trying to hunt down the bandits that have been attacking the roads. They're hiding somewhere, and we'll need a lot of help to find them."

The woman gave her another smile after a moment, canting her head simply. "Of course. I have no doubt thou shalt make an … _interesting_ companion."

Eve wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but she didn't have much time to either. She frowned at the other, but then Jaheira was suddenly breaking into the small clearing, Khalid in tow and the ranger at her side.

"What do you mean they are not coming?" the druid was demanding irritably. "Our plans are set and readied. Did you not set the false trail?"

Kivan nodded his head, frowning darkly at her. "I did everything you asked, half-breed. They still do not come."

"What happened?" Imoen leapt to her feet from the other side of the hill, bounding over. "What's going on?"

The three only spared her half a mind and a glance.

"Why not?" Jaheira struck her fists to her hips, pursing her lips.

"They have found something else," he muttered back, shouldering his bow. "It is best you come and see." He started moving away.

"Our plan was to ambush them _here_," the druid stabbed a finger toward the ground. "What could possibly be important enough to endanger ourselves so recklessly as to chase off after _them_?"

The ranger paused only for a moment. "They have found themselves a hostage."

"What?" Jaheira suddenly quieted, her brow furrowing. "Who?"

"Come and see," was all he said, starting away again. "But I suggest that you do not take long. He might be dead before we can help."

And then he was gone, leaving the half-Elven woman frowning after him. Evelyn didn't know just what that meant or who could have possibly happened upon them or the Gnolls so far from any road or town – besides Brage, of course – but then she was hurrying forward, after the ranger. It might have been a terrible risk, but she was not about to let someone else get hurt because of her.

She only hoped that the others were right behind.

* * *

What Evelyn saw then, peaking out from between the long, drooping branches of an old oak on a rise above, was at least _one_ of the strangest things she had ever hoped to see outside of Candlekeep. And Imoen beside her at least seemed to agree by the look on her face. But all of the actors below, as calm and seemingly well-placed as they were, begged to differ.

"We ask again, puny Elf … where are other manlings?"

She recognized the silver fur of the giant Gnoll that paced before the Elven man below instantly, wishing then that she had cracked her staff just a little harder over its head before trying to flee the fortress. It was a little late for lost hopes, however.

"I have given you my answer already, Gnoll," the Elven man was remarking calmly, almost irritably, "or was the one I gave your companion not enough?" He gestured with one slender sword away toward another of the Gnolls that stood in a wide ring about the man, that one with half of one arm missing. It gnashed its teeth furiously back at him. "Perhaps you require another …"

The Gnoll chieftain kept its distance from the Elf, though it certainly did not seem to be out of fear. Instead the silver-furred beast stalked around the man in a slow circle, trying to intimidate him. From what Eve could tell, it was falling well short of its desired effect.

The others crouched down beside her all around, even Jaheira's face registering some awe. It was not for the several dozen Gnolls gathered around the man in the clearing below, however. Instead, it was for the Elf.

He was sheathed in resplendent chain beneath a fur-lined forest green cloak draped down above high black boots, the metal links all but seamless and certainly crafted to be nothing short of perfect. They seemed to catch the afternoon sun and glow just the faintest bit. And the two scimitars that he held in either hand were no less perfect – elegant, and deadly all at once. It was hard not to notice even from there. But it was hardly his attire that caught the eye, or that surprised the others. It was his dark skin.

"A Drow?" Jaheira breathed, unable to take her eyes away. "A Dark Elf?" The ranger grunted beside her.

"Not just any Dark Elf, half-breed. Drizzt Do'Urden if I am not mistaken."

"Horns of Silvanus …" her voice faded away to nothing. "What is he doing _here_?" Kivan only nodded his head.

"That is a good question."

"But aren't Dark Elves, well … evil?" Imoen was whispering across to them then.

"Not this one," was all the ranger said.

"You tread on murderous manlings' trail, little Elf," the Gnoll chieftain was growling down below, still encircling the Drow. "You tell us where they hide, we let you live."

The Elf – Drizzt – was calm and unflappable, looking up toward the chieftain as it paced back in front of him. But Evelyn got the distinct impression that he was assessing that situation just as much as they up above on the ridge. And no matter how good he might be with those blades … he could hardly take all thirty or so Gnolls on at once. Jaheira and the others were certainly thinking the same thing.

"Well … we have to help him!" Imoen was looking urgently at them then. But the druid shook her head.

"We cannot charge in blindly, girl. He will die, as would we. We must strike quickly, and we must keep them from organizing enough to take both _him_, and us."

"We will need to distract them," Kivan muttered off to one side, readying his bow.

"Yes," the half-Elf acceded. "But what?"

"Let me go," a voice spoke from behind, and four heads turned as one to the bound commander kneeling on the earth behind them, one of Khalid's scimitars at his back. Xan and the two Rashemi stood just past.

"A Gnoll's axe or a headsman's – I am a dead man, already," Brage continued. "Let me do some good before I fall. Let me go."

"And what?" the druid demanded, arching her brow. "Watch them butcher you in surprise? That is hardly the distraction we need."

Evelyn felt some pity for the man as they all turned away, his face crestfallen as he lost the chance to do what he considered some good and maybe die with some dignity left. Dynaheir's dark eyes were upon her the whole while.

"This is last chance, little manling," the Gnoll chieftain was warning the Dark Elf below. "Tell us where others are or we take your dark skin for our own." Evelyn noticed, briefly, that it had replaced the Gnoll-pelt mantle across its shoulders.

"We are out of time!" Kivan hissed beside them. Jaheira only shook her head.

"Khalid!"

And then Evelyn was whipping back about.

"Xan, Dynaheir!"

The two each blinked at her in turn in surprise, but were moving in the next moment, scrambling over to where the others hid. Jaheira gave the raven-haired woman a dubious frown as she took her staff in hand. "Be ready," was all she said. Minsc was close on Dynaheir's heels.

"What are you doing?" Jaheira demanded, but Evelyn had already leapt into the air, over the lip of the ridge, and down toward the clearing below. She rolled over, thrust upright once more, and then hurtled onward, flying on the balls of her feet with little more than her own momentum carrying her forward. She tore into the clearing and darted straight through two of the Gnolls. They barely had time to notice her before she was mere paces away from the chieftain.

The silver-backed Gnoll twisted about instantly, even the Dark Elf leveling a blade with her heart in surprise. But then she came to an abrupt halt. Catching her breath briefly before painting her face with a grin, she met the chieftain's eyes.

"Remember me?"

And then everything around her just exploded.

An arrow hissed down to the clearing below before anyone could move, taking one of the Gnolls ahead of her in the throat. Light rained down swiftly after it, burning holes through some while throwing others roughly from their feet. And then a giant Rashemi was charging down into view, two half-Elves and a young woman garbed nearly all in pink soon after. A massive blade swept through one Gnoll from behind, and then everything was blood and roaring and steel and death. And Evelyn stood right in the middle of it.

The chieftain overcame its shock quickly, moving to leap toward her with blinding speed, bloody death burning bright in its black eyes. The staff came up instantly, but she knew she was too slow as she saw those claws sweeping toward her head. She had hardly recovered much from earlier with Brage, but at least she had gotten into their center. She hoped it had been enough.

But then steel was sweeping clean before her, slicing at the Gnoll's outstretched arms, whirling around like a dervish and then down across its back. Before it could even howl, two blades were thrusting through its silvered fur and up through its stomach.

Evelyn looked up to the Dark Elf as he pulled his scimitars free from the chieftain, those lavender eyes fixing firmly on hers for a moment as if acknowledging the silent thanks there. He moved to turn away.

The silver-backed Gnoll was suddenly howling. Its one remaining arm came whipping about toward the Elf. Drizzt only grunted as those steel-like claws struck metal-linked mail and sent the Drow spinning abruptly into the air, whirling away into the fray. He landed amidst a pack of the raging beasts as they seethed toward the others.

Evelyn heard herself screaming suddenly in anger as she leapt forward at the chieftain, oblivious to her friends battling for their lives behind her. The ashwood snaked upward to strike the snout of the beast, but it snatched the length of wood instantly from the air, pulling her along with it. And then it whipped her away as well, staff and all. She hit the earth a dozen paces away, lost her staff, tumbled over and struck a tree.

Light was flashing all over the clearing, and she was dimly aware of Xan's blue sword gleaming bright in the sunlight as it sliced through a Gnoll. She caught sight of Imoen too as she looked up from the ground, the pink-haired woman leaping aside just as another of the wolf-headed monsters barreled toward her and met the end of Minsc's massive blade instead. A dagger hurtled free from her hand to catch the next in the throat.

And then one of the beasts was roaring behind her.

Evelyn twisted herself around, seeing a Gnoll leaping towards her. She pushed herself aside, letting it strike the thin birch behind instead. Pulling free Fuller's dagger, she thrust it through the thing's eye. She forced it aside with a hand.

She couldn't feel her legs, but she tested them and they still moved. It wasn't surprising though. That she had made it that far without collapsing had been lucky enough. Unfortunately, it just wasn't lucky _enough_.

The chieftain was trudging toward her, picking up speed. She caught sight of blackness suddenly exploding outward and swallowing a group of Gnolls past its massive body followed by screams, but then the thing was all that she could see, barreling down on her. She threw herself over and onto her knees, and started crawling away.

She only had time enough to dive behind the birch tree trunk before the chieftain was before it, slicing its one good claw through the wood. The thin tree exploded into splinters beneath the blow, and then quickly toppled over. Evelyn rolled onto her back, and screamed as it came hurtling down toward her.

She threw her arms before her face, wondering what good it would do only too late … but then the mass of branches rebounded against the earth far ahead of her, and stayed from the killing blow. That did not stop the Gnoll from pouncing atop the fallen trunk, however, and sweeping one deadly claw beneath to maul her.

The birch bounced beneath the chieftain's weight, nearly crushing Evelyn once more, but she rolled out from under it to the other side just ahead of those steel-like claws. The Gnoll lost its balance as it swiped at her again, though, no second arm to steady it, and was toppling over and down. Evelyn threw herself to her feet and, snatching up the ashwood from the ground, pushed forward against it and away.

She did not run toward the others. Instead, she hobbled as best she could away from the battle behind her and further into the forests. She put precious little distance between them as she heard the beast suddenly bound to its feet and come loping after.

It stumbled and twisted into a fall as she looked back, unable to run after her on all fours without its missing arm. She wondered briefly if she'd ever get a chance to thank the Dark Elf for that. But then the thing was up and leaping after her once more. It was not long before it caught up.

Evelyn threw herself to the ground with an angry cry as the beast pounced atop her, thrusting the staff up towards its skull. It stabbed it in the throat, the wood narrowly missing a crushing, fatal blow. And then she was on her back beneath it.

The chieftain reared up into the air, making a sickening gurgling sound as it struggled to recover. But she had no time to escape before it did. It stabbed its remaining claw down for her heart.

She wriggled aside just a moment ahead of having her chest pounded into the earth, and looked back up only to see massive jaws flashing toward her head. They clamped down on grass and earth, however, as she rolled over and away. And then Fuller's dagger was in hand, the staff tumbling to the ground.

Metal flashed once … twice … three times, and the Gnoll leapt back and away, three new holes leaking blood from its stomach down to the moss padded earth. Evelyn rolled away once more, took up her staff and edged quickly back.

The chieftain was not so quick to come after her this time, too much blood spilling forth from it to go unchecked for so long. It cast around wildly, howling, and then stood.

It stalked towards her, trudging along the earth as it slowly started to lose its strength. And Evelyn stepped back with it, keeping the staff between them. Its eyes were mad with rage and death, uncaring for whether it lived or died … so long as it broke her flesh somewhere in between. For her part, Evelyn could barely keep herself on her own two feet, let alone fight much longer. With each step she took, she stumbled that much more and prayed to whatever gods would listen, that she might just take one more. It was a vain hope.

Her foot caught, and nearly twisted, but she fell with a sudden cry. Catching herself at the knee, it did not stop the Gnoll from taking that chance to attack. Before it could rush her though, she stabbed at it with her staff like a spear, catching one of the holes Drizzt had managed to tear open in it and pushing with whatever strength she had left. The thing stumbled back, and howled, but then it had the end of the staff in its one claw, and was flinging it angrily away. She almost wished she had gone with it that time.

She still had Fuller's dagger, but it was next to useless in her hand, faced with that hulking beast as it slowly moved to finish her. Still she bared her teeth, and climbed back to her feet, keeping it between them. She started edging her way slowly back.

"Run away!" she cried at it furiously. "Run while you still can!" She tried to ignore the way her legs kept refusing to do what she needed. "The others will kill you even if I don't. You still have a chance!"

The thing wasn't listening to her. Blood had begun to dribble out from its mighty jaws, and its black eyes were wide with that hunger. It had been worth a try at least.

She was crawling back, pulling herself along by her hands as she kicked at the earth, her eyes never leaving the wolf-headed monster trudging towards her. It was the most pitiful thing she could possibly have imagined just then – it was only a matter of moments before the thing had her again. But there was nothing else to do. And then her hand slipped.

Evelyn twisted around in surprise and sudden horror, only to find herself at the edge of a small cliff, sloping steeply down toward a shallow ravine below. Rock jutted out from the decline, slick with moss and lichen. A small stream wound its way along at the bottom.

She rounded back upon the Gnoll chieftain just as it was reaching down to take her. Fuller's dagger was out in a flash, and slicing along its one good arm. It snapped at her angrily. And then she thrust upward with her foot, willing as much strength into it as she could. She missed, got it tangled in the other's as it took one final step, and then it was falling, snatching at her shoulder as it tumbled forward and over the edge. She only had time to scream before she was whisked along after.

The world became a blur, spinning in her eyes, and she was dimly aware of the Gnoll grunting as they both spun over and over, smooth and jagged rock faces pounding into them from every side as they cascaded down the side of the ravine. Evelyn only hugged herself as tightly as she could, feeling her strength ebb with every blow, waiting for one to be the last.

It seemed to last forever. They tumbled over and down until Eve was hardly sure which way was up _or_ down anymore. She was sure she would black out with each blow. But then she was suddenly horizontal again, barreling forward across the earth. Her limbs whipped out wildly – she lost control over them. Then she was diving under water, feeling it rush over and around her. She gasped in a lungful before she could help it.

She had stopped … and for a moment, she couldn't move. But then she started to panic once more, remembering the bridge, trapped there beneath the water, and started scrabbling against it for some kind of purchase. The stream was shallow, though, and she was soon pushing against the bottom and forcing herself back up into the world above. She toppled over backwards, her lungs seething.

She lay there for a time, hacking out the contents of the stream all over her drenched tunic and leathers. Her hair was plastered all across her face, and the top half of her was soaked through to the skin. She swiped a trembling hand back at the rampant locks, and turned her head to one side. Two large black eyes stared back at her.

She screamed … or tried to. All that came out instead was more hacking as water still stuck in her throat. And then the Gnoll started to move.

She could have almost hoped the thing was finally dead after all that, but then its one arm started to move slowly. She didn't have the strength to move herself anymore, as much as she needed it. And the irony of it all was not lost on her in those last few moments.

But the clawed hand didn't reach for her throat, or tear out her heart, or do anything to her just then. Instead it reached slowly down toward the beast's stomach.

It was lying on its back, its massive head turned toward her with its jaws parted wide and its tongue hanging out. Blood was pouring out of its throat and running down along the damp earth. Evelyn could only watch as that claw reached down into one of the holes she had punched through it. And then it _did_ reach for her.

As much as she wanted to tear away, she couldn't. Her head was about the only thing she could move just then as she still lay there, coughing out her lungs, and she twisted that away, willing the rest of her body to do the same. But then she suddenly caught sight of steel sticking out of the mud just beside her. Fuller's dagger was stabbed deep there in the earth.

She wriggled one hand desperately over, crawling along the ground like a spider as if her fingers were its legs and her wrist the head. It took an eternity to reach the steel, and twice as long to slide the heavy blade back toward her. And then she was looking back over, lifting the dagger … only to meet claw hovering just over her skull.

She froze there for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping desperately that she would die before she heard her own skull crack. The last thing she would have wanted would be to leave the world with that maddening, sickening crack. But when it didn't come – when she felt the tip of a claw brush against her forehead … she opened her eyes.

The Gnoll wasn't staring at her anymore, instead it was intent upon her brow. She coughed still, emptying yet more water from her lungs, but still the thing managed to bring its trembling claw down along her skin. It left something trailing in its wake. She could feel it against her flesh.

It was only a few moments later that she realized that it was the beast's own blood.

When the thing finally finished, tracing its blood against her skin, it let its arm fall to the earth, all strength fleeing from it. It was only then that Eve caught sight of just what the beast was lying on, stretched out as haphazardly as it was. A rounded stone jutted out from the earth. The thing's back was bent around it.

The Gnoll chieftain caught her eyes for one more brief moment. And then it died. All Evelyn could do was lie there, staring, as she watched the life flee from it. And then she let her eyes close, fatigue finally claiming her.

Her sleep, as brief as it was, was peaceful … and sweet.


	26. Chapter 3 From the Cradle

_**From the Cradle**_

"Come on!"

Evelyn pumped her legs harder, desperately trying to keep up with her best friend as she pulled ahead and around a woman's skirts into the street. Eve nearly collided with the woman, only sparing time enough to shout up an insincere apology at her before hurrying on.

"Yer gonna miss it, Eve!" the other was yelling back at her. "Come on!"

They tore through the beaten earth of the Candlekeep streets, around stalls and past frowning monks toward the Inn. The other always stayed just ahead of her, her stick legs somehow managing to beat her best friend to their prize. But she wasn't about to let Imoen win_ this _time.

Evelyn twisted away from the path of a sudden then, and darted back and into the stables. It was a shortcut they knew but the other had missed, and she was finally going to beat her best friend for her mistake. But then she heard voices.

She slowed as she came around to the long, thatch-roofed room that held the few horses of the keep and its travelers, the animals enjoying small sacks full of grain tied around their long heads. Evelyn stepped past them quietly, hearing the voices coming from the large storage closet at the end of the room, where they kept the horses' things – saddles, and harness, and such. It was past there that she needed to go to get out closer to the Inn and hopefully beat Imoen, and she didn't want to be seen or get in trouble for being there. But as she got closer, she heard her father suddenly speak and she nearly jumped in surprise.

"I do not know what you had planned on accomplishing here, _priest_," the old man was saying angrily, "but know that your trickster god will never learn of whatever it is you _think_ you might have found out."

For a moment Evelyn had thought she had been found, readying herself for another lecture as she was hauled out by her ear. But then she realized that he was not speaking to her. He was in that room with all the hay, talking to someone else. That someone else laughed.

"_Oh_, but my _trickster_ god could hardly be kept from the truth for long, wizard." His voice was low and slippery, reminding her distinctly of that snake Imoen had tried to catch just outside the Barracks two days ago. "He already _knows_ … and he will know just where to find these others when I return to him, in death or otherwise."

"Your master does not rule the Hells, priest!" her father spat back. "And that is _exactly_ where you will be going …"

Evelyn was just beside the opening that let into that little room, slipping her eyes past a wooden beam to look inside. She saw her father standing over a ragged looking man that had been bound to the wood behind him, his unkempt hair and beard smeared with blood. As if out of a nightmare, he suddenly looked straight at her … and smiled.

"You cannot hide them forever, _old_ man," he was saying suddenly then – the priest, or whatever he was. He certainly didn't _look_ like any priest Evelyn had ever seen before. "Cyric will know this one's face as I do now soon enough!"

Gorion rounded on her instantly. He had had his hands raised and stretched out toward the haggard man beneath him, but then he suddenly withdrew at the sight of her. "Tethtoril," he called back over his shoulder quickly as he moved toward Eve. The other old man, standing there silently in his red robes, abruptly moved, and took up her father's place before the priest.

Gorion took her gently by the shoulders, leading her just outside the room and away. She tried to look past him as the priest started laughing, but he blocked her view. There was only a flash of light from behind, heat, and then the sickening smell of something she didn't know. She almost thought she heard someone start to scream.

"Evelyn," her father was saying softly to her, kneeling down and looking her straight in the eyes. They were soft just then, and searching her own.

"Papa, who was that?"

But he just shook his head.

"Do you know why there are so many bad men in this world?" he asked, still holding her by the arms.

She shook her head, and he tapped her nose with a smile.

"It is because there are so many good!" Her father let his grin broaden until she was finally smiling back up at him as well. The man in the red robes – Tethtoril – moved up beside him.

"It is the place of good men," her father was saying, and then he took her cheek in his wrinkled old hand, "and good little girls like _you_, to make certain that there are not too many. Justice can only prevail so long as good hearts stay true, and stronger. Evil will only devour itself in the end. A beast that will never be satisfied always does."

He stood, picking her easily up from the ground.

"Now," he cast a glance at the man beside him, the smile never leaving his face, "I believe an old friend has come to visit. And, if I remember correctly, he promised you and your little friend both some gifts."

"And magic!" she reminded him quickly. "Don't forget magic!"

The old man bounced her up even higher.

"Yes, now how does that sound?"

She nodded her head as vigorously as she could. And he tucked her down against his shoulder. Tethtoril smiled up at her from beneath his cowl as he followed behind.

"I think Master Aumar will be happy to see you both."

* * *

It was night. And Evelyn was still being carried.

She stirred only slightly, thinking it at first to be Gorion, and tried to go back to sleep. But then she looked up, and saw a familiar, handsome Elven face staring back at her. Xan merely arched an eyebrow.

Evelyn was twisting around then, and she caught sight of slightly pointed ears before her ride suddenly came to a halt and put her back down gently to the ground. It was Khalid, and he was steadying her with a hand.

"I'll be alright," she told him simply, testing her legs gingerly before letting him retract his arm. She realized then that the others had come to a stop somewhere just ahead of them.

"I appreciate your assistance," someone was saying as Evelyn pushed her way closer. For a moment she didn't recognize the voice. "It is a long enough trip to the Icewind Dale, even without these constant interruptions."

The night was dark, and she could just barely make out those standing around before her. She was looking around hurriedly, but she didn't see anyone missing or much worse for wear. It seemed she had been the only one to really suffer during the attack. She was thankful enough for that.

Lights sprouted all over in the distance, slate-roofed buildings rising up from the ground ahead beneath the horizon. A road wound steadily away beneath their feet. It could only have been Beregost.

Imoen caught sight of her, standing beside Jaheira and some of the others, and hurried over. She gave her best friend a fierce hug, and then pushed something into her hands. It was the ashwood staff.

"I think you lost this," was all the other woman said before turning away.

"You hardly have to thank us, Drow," Jaheira was saying. "If the Gnolls had not been hunting us so far afield in the first place, you would have never had any such trouble at all."

Evelyn finally realized who they were speaking to, his ebony skin all but blending into the gloom about. She pressed forward then, excitedly.

"You're alive!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the Dark Elf, not even a scratch upon him that she could see. Of course, it _was_ dark.

"As are you, my young friend," he said right back, smiling faintly. "I had thought the large one was mine, but you seized the day. I should certainly be proud of so fierce a foe vanquished."

Her excitement died instantly at that, as she suddenly remembered. She moved one hand up to touch her forehead, feeling the dried blood there. Some of it began to flake off.

"Yes," was all she said, quietly.

"You said something about a camp?" the Drow was turning back toward the druid. "I do not recall banditry being of such epidemic proportions in this area; how long has this been so?"

"It was not always this way." Jaheira gave her husband a look as he came up beside them. "We strive to return peace to these lands."

"Noble goals indeed," the Dark Elf nodded, "and ones I would hold dear myself. Alas, I cannot help you now, I am afraid. I am needed elsewhere."

The druid merely canted her head. "I am sorry to hear that. But we will do what we must, as I am sure you will do as well."

Drizzt studied her for a moment, looked around to each of the others in turn, and then continued. "Your struggle will be difficult," he told her quietly, "for the bandits that I have encountered – being beset at every turn as I am – are no mere vagabonds with blades. The humans bear the style of the Black Talon, and the hobgoblins that of the Chill. Mercenary groups both of them, and as such it is unlikely they are the architects of this endeavor. You would do well to insinuate into their ranks, and determine their true masters. Difficult, but not impossible, and potentially the most fruitful course."

"We already know their true master," Kivan was muttering off to one side then. "A half-Ogre. Tazok."

The Dark Elf spared him a glance, but only shrugged. "I suppose you have all that you need then. You have but to destroy them now. Luck be on your side."

He turned aside, and the ranger was clasping arms with him quickly. He spoke something in Elvish, looking the other straight in his lavender eyes. And the Drow responded in kind with a bow of his head.

"An honor to join battle with you, Drizzt Do'Urden," the ranger was saying, releasing the other. "The true blood of Ilythiry runs strong in you, uncorrupted by Lolth's treachery. I do not blaspheme my faith by shaking hands. Even after five thousand years, goodness still nests in the darkness."

"Shevarash has a grimmer perspective," the Drow said simply, shaking his head. "Those thousands of years of hatred that divide our peoples will not be easily forgotten. We must hope, however. With Mielikki's blessing, Kivan of Shilmista."

"May your ways be green and golden, Dark Elf." The other nodded, and turned away.

"You're not even gonna stay one night in a warm bed?" Imoen was demanding suddenly, calling at the man's back as if he were mad. "Even after all _that_?"

The Dark Elf smiled back at her, casting a glance toward the town. "I would prefer not to sully this encounter or your good hearts with the unwelcome stares I would no doubt bring. Besides," he added after a moment, "I still have a long path to tread ahead of me. And the sun will be up soon. Farewell, my friends. May we meet in happier times."

And then he was gone.

Jaheira turned back to the others, the night having grown still and silent about them. The lights of Beregost were almost welcoming in the distance.

"I think we will all enjoy a warm bed tonight," she said quietly, pursing her lips and looking down to the town below. "With few exceptions. This has certainly been an ordeal."

She took a step forward, muttering the next beneath her breath. The others were not supposed to hear, Evelyn was sure, but she was close on the other woman's heels.

"The hardest part has yet to come."

* * *

Evelyn lay wide awake, clasping her hands atop her chest and staring up into the ceiling of the small apartment that she, Imoen, the druid and Dynaheir all shared. The pink-haired woman was snoring quietly in the bed beside her, but the other two hardly made a sound. She couldn't really be sure if they were sleeping at all. But it didn't matter just then. Her thoughts were somewhere else.

The men had taken another room, though it wouldn't have been surprising if Minsc had decided to stand awake all night outside the women's – or even if he were sleeping against their door. He had not dared to be parted from his witch for even the briefest moment since retrieving her from the Gnolls' fortress. But the Rashemi woman had finally agreed that it would have been unseemly for them to share a room – and they certainly had little enough coin to afford another. In the end, the giant warrior could not refuse the woman's command. Brage had been tied up and left with them.

They had decided on another inn to stay in that night – the Jovial Juggler on the south end of town. The Feldepost and the Red Sheaf had certainly been out of the question. Too many might remember just what had taken place there not too long ago. And they had wanted to avoid attention. Unfortunately, they had been recognized – Jaheira had been at least, and her husband. Evelyn had not been quite sure what to make of that.

Word had spread fast of Nashkel – of how Jaheira had led a small, _intrepid_ band to rid the mines of their demons and solve the crisis of the tainted ore. Iron was once again shipping steadily out from the mine, if not pouring out in droves from what they had heard. The master of the mines was intent upon making up for lost profit, it seemed, and had no compunctions about working the miners nearly to death now they had no more need to fear it from below.

What had proved troubling, though, was the news that the bandit raids had increased since then. Even though the iron was moving steadily from the mines to smelts and blacksmiths all up along the Sword Coast, more and more caravans were turning up missing, or butchered – all for the sake of that same iron. It only made their next task all the more urgent, and Jaheira had certainly resolved to conclude with it quickly. She had given them one day to rest. And as far as Evelyn was concerned, it was a mixed blessing.

She lay there atop her blankets in little more than her shift, a small length of steel held firmly between her fingers. It was Gorion's dagger, the one she had found on his body after the night he had been murdered. And it was the blade that she had vowed to end the life of his murderer with when the time finally came. She had kept it safe inside her pack up until then. But as she had scrounged through it for the last of her clean clothes before sinking into a bath in the copper tub they had been given, she had seen it … and remembered. Helping Minsc rescue his witch had been distraction enough, but deep down, she hadn't forgotten. Gorion had seldom been in her dreams of late, though.

The voices had quieted as well … at least some of them had. It was not as if they had ever spoken to her though really. It was more as if they had been irresistible urges and feelings that had never been hers before all of this. They had felt decidedly alien at first, and she had known them to be wrong. But over time they had begun to fade into the background, and to seem less and less different from her own. She was beginning to have more and more trouble distinguishing between them, though the hunger that suffused her sometimes could never fully become one with her. She had rejected it so utterly after what it had made her do, and it had tried so hard to drive her to do more. But she pushed it away, and it was left clawing at the edges. She could only hope that was where it would stay.

Whatever came of their assault on the bandit camp … her father's killer would be there, she was sure of it. Tazok would be too. And they would all have their revenge at once – or die trying to take it. For her part, Evelyn was not so sure that they wouldn't. She had begun to remember the demonic man in earnest that night, now that he was so close, and she hardly knew if she was any more suited to slay him just then than she had been more than half a month ago. Her hands had begun to shake around the dagger at the thought, and she wasn't quite sure if it was with hate or fear. Maybe both. The man had killed Gorion with ease. What hope could _she_ have possibly had?

No … thoughts like that were useless. She _had_ grown. She had learned how to use everything Jondalar had taught her to do and just what she had needed in order to take her vengeance. Jaheira might have seen helping the Rashemi as a misadventure … but it had taught Evelyn something. She had learned something from everything that she had done. And Kivan had been right. Being taught to learn on her own had still been something. And she had.

She got up from the bed and put Gorion's dagger back in her pack. It wasn't time yet, but it would be soon enough. And whatever happened, she would not rest until she had driven that little piece of steel deep inside the man's murderous heart. She had already promised that.

She pulled a long tunic on over the shift, deciding that she had had enough sleep for the past three days. It was not as if those few hours before light would have been enough besides, and Jaheira had resolved to begin their work early in the morning. Evelyn wasn't sure just what that might involve … but it was a fading thought just then. And as she stepped outside of their room, mildly surprised not to find Minsc lying there, she remembered something more pressing. Kivan stood at the end of the hall.

He had his back to her, leaning against the wall and staring down through a window to the Beregost streets below. She moved slowly down the passage toward him, careful not to make a sound. He looked as if he was as deep in his thoughts as she … and she could easily imagine of just what they were. She would not dare to disturb them so callously.

As she stepped closer, however, he suddenly spoke, quietly and reproving. "Your trade is not mine," he said back over his shoulder without turning, "and I would thank you not to ply it on _me_."

She ceased moving instantly, but then shrugged to herself, and started forward once more.

"I never had a chance to thank you for saving my life," she told him then, coming to stop mere paces behind. He turned hard eyes toward her briefly.

"And I never cared to thank you for saving _mine_."

"So is that why you've been avoiding me?" She cast a glance around to the hallway about, pursing her lips. "I hardly have you trapped now." There was a flight of stairs leading back down to the common room just beside him.

"I have not been avoiding you." He shook his head. "You were hardly fit enough to continue our lessons anyways."

"That's hardly an excuse. You've barely said anything to me since that night."

"I have spoken to you _plenty_ of times since then."

"_At_ me … not_ to_ me."

He shook his head, muttering something in Elvish.

"What do you want, Evelyn?" he turned toward her, sounding irritated. It angered her for a moment, making her feel almost like some kind of nagging child. But she let it pass.

"The same thing you want," she told him evenly. "Revenge. And I'd think that you would respect what I did for you a little more since it kept you alive long enough to be here right now."

"I did not _ask_ you to save my life," he muttered quietly, and then his voice picked up fervor. "One way or another I would be with Deheriana in Arvandor … Do you begrudge me wishing to be there sooner rather than later?"

"What about Tazok?" she asked simply. The other turned away.

"Tazok was never the one that mattered."

She took a step closer after a moment, letting her voice fall low.

"I think you are afraid of him, Kivan."

He rounded upon her instantly.

"_Afraid_?" he hissed at her, incredulous and infuriated both. "I _hate_ him … that is enough. And I _love_ Deheriana. There is no room _left _in my heart for fear. They have divided it equally between them." But she only stepped closer.

"I think you are afraid that you will be just as powerless as before to stop him," she persisted. "I think you are afraid that you will fail."

"Shevarash will not _let_ me fail!" He stabbed a finger toward the ground.

But Evelyn only shook her head. "You're not afraid of failing Shevaresh, Kivan," she frowned at him sadly. "You're afraid of failing _her_. Again."

His brown eyes widened at that, and, for a moment, melted away. But then he was as hard as stone once more. And twice as cold. "I will not fail," he uttered simply. "That Tazok has wormed his way into my heart at all is reason enough for him to die. That place belongs solely to _her_, and no one else."

"You don't have to hide it, Kivan," was all Eve said, gently. "I'm scared too."

"And of what could you possibly be _scared_?" he demanded angrily, nearly spitting the words at her. "Have you suffered anything even _close_ to what I have suffered? Did you _watch_ as beasts tore your love apart in the dirt before you? Hear them laugh? Feel them _burn_ and _twist_ your own flesh until it was barely your own anymore? Have you?"

He suddenly tore off one of his leather gloves, revealing the naked limb beneath. He thrust the hand before her face, showing her the blackened purple and red, oozing flesh that grew there, scorched and hacked until it hardly resembled a hand at all anymore. Unless you looked from afar and could see all its joints.

She swallowed loudly, but stood her ground.

"You think that if you fail her again, Kivan," she continued slowly, "she will not take you back. Or that you won't be worthy of her anymore. But if she loves you … if she _really_ loves you … then it won't matter what you do or don't do. She will take you … so long as you love her too."

"What do you know?!" he suddenly barked at her, snatching at her tunic and pulling his contorted face in close. "What _can_ you know?" he hissed. "You are a child … nothing more! Nothing! You know _nothing_!"

He abruptly forced her away, pushing her back. And then he turned toward the window once more. "Leave me," he said, quietly. "I will thank you for saving my life … but never do so again. Whatever foul magicks you have inside of you," he stabbed a hand, "I want no part of them. They are your burden to bear. Do not make them mine – again."

She had listened to it all with calm and patience. She had let him rant and rave in those brief moments as he had before at her, and she had let it all wash over her as if it were nothing. She _knew _it was nothing. But at that … at that last bit that he had lashed out at her with, hardly giving it any more thought than he would have some kind of insect squirming in the dirt … Evelyn suddenly felt something inside of her snap.

"You think I know nothing?" she stepped up close to him once more. "You think you know something of _hate_?"

She raised both her arms toward him, and he turned around.

"You look at _my_ hands now … and you tell me I know nothing of pain … and suffering!"

The ranger opened his mouth to bark something angry back at her, but then he did look at her hands as they abruptly thrust closer in front of his face. Even in the early morning gloom, he must have seen that same glow that she felt. He looked up to her in surprise.

"You say you felt your soul leave you as Deheriana died," she was continuing quietly, her teeth bared and angry tears in her eyes. "You say you felt hers leave her too."

He frowned at her, his brow furrowing fiercely. She wasn't done just yet.

"But do you know what it _feels_ like to tear someone else's soul from them?" she demanded angrily. "I do!" She stabbed one of those glowing red hands toward her chest. "Do you have _any_ idea just what that feels like?"

"Evelyn …"

"No!" She shook her head fiercely from side to side. "No … you don't. You don't have any idea what it's like to feel that hunger inside you – to know that I could kill you right now … and that a part of me would enjoy it … wants it so _desperately_." She thrust both her hands back before him. "Look at _my_ hands," she told him feverishly, "and tell me you don't see it!"

"Evelyn," he pushed her hands slowly away, his voice suddenly soft, and bemused. "I do not _see_ anything."

She stared at him wide-eyed, unable to believe. Every thought flew out of her head as quickly as they had appeared, and no more words would come. She stood there, horrified and dumbstruck … and he just stared right back.

It made her feel all the less sane just then, as if that madness inside of her was somehow invisible to everyone else. For some strange reason, to think that it wasn't … it had made her feel just a little bit better.

She turned away, her horror-stricken eyes finding the floor beneath her. And then she started away without another word.

But the ranger caught her arm instantly.

"Evelyn," he began calmly anew, bringing her back around. She refused to look up at him. "You told me that Gorion was not your true father."

She nodded slowly. She wasn't looking at anything at all.

"Who _were_ your parents?"

Her eyes slowly found his, bearing down on her intently. She remembered all the way back to the Friendly Arm Inn so long ago … standing before a mirror and treading dangerously close to that very same question. He had not asked it, but she knew he must have been wondering all along. She almost laughed at that, shaking her head.

"I don't know."

That he had waited so long to ask a question she didn't even know the answer too … it seemed so suddenly silly just then. She had nothing to hide. She didn't even know.

He seemed disappointed, though she could hardly tell by the look on his face, as unreadable as it was. She felt it though, and felt a little sorry for him too. But there was nothing she could do about it … except maybe lie. But she doubted that that would accomplish much at all. It hardly mattered.

She pulled him to her abruptly, wrapping her hands tight about his back. He seemed surprised at the gesture at first, but did not fight it. She rubbed a hand comfortingly against his tunic.

"We'll find Tazok," she told him quietly, her voice steady as she remembered just why she had really come to speak to him. "We'll take your revenge. We won't fail." She smiled as warmly as she could, turning her head aside. "And when we are finally done … you'll have Deheriana back. She will love you just as much as you love her. No matter what happens. I promise you that."

They stayed there for a long time … but it wasn't long before the ranger finally came apart in her arms, finally letting some of it all go at last – she could only hope. She thought she heard him thank her at some point, but she couldn't be sure. All she knew was that she felt she might have finally given him something worth all the trouble she had put him through, as small a thing as it was. That … made her forget everything else for a while. Just a while.

She hoped, at least for him, that it would be enough.


	27. Chapter 3 To the Grave

_**To the Grave**_

"Greetings. Jaheira, I would assume?"

The druid nodded her head generously, taking a sip of the wine before her. "And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Captain Jessa Vai," the other woman declared proudly, "of the Flaming Fist." Her dark hair was cut short and close, both her eyes and face hard – easily as hard as the half-Elven woman's across from her. She was wearing resplendent plated mail, a sword belted at her side and a white-plumed helm in the crook of her arm.

"Of the Flaming Fist?" Jaheira asked almost chidingly, swirling the cup beneath her lips. "And an officer no less?" She took another drink. "I was not aware that our sex was even _allowed_ to enlist."

The other woman smiled tersely at her, the crack not a threat to that bluff bastion in the slightest. "My father was right hand to a Grand Duke," she told the other, "and grew dismayed at my unseemly boyish habits. He arranged for me to enlist in order to knock some sense back into me after a taste of just what it took to survive in a _man's_ world. Unfortunately for him, and everyone else," she leaned forward, "I was_ good_."

"Hmm."

The woman pulled back. "I've firmly believed as my father taught me, that courage may be taught as a child is taught to speak and that discipline makes men brave, while confusion, only cowards. As such," she waved a hand at the three other Flaming Fist soldiers behind her, smiling with utter confidence, "any one of these men would give their lives at my direction. Some of them just don't know it."

"So," Jaheira gave her a pointed look, "what makes you so interested in us then?"

The officer swept her hard eyes across both Khalid and Evelyn seated to either side of the druid, that self-satisfied smile never leaving her face. "These southern parts are set quite afire with talk of your work in Nashkel," she said. "And, to be honest, I could use your help."

The Jovial Juggler common room about them was hardly busy that morning, only the others among their small group still scattered about the inn. Xan had remained upstairs with Brage – what the two could_ possibly_ be talking about, Evelyn hardly wanted to know – while Imoen sat at the bar, watching them at the table. Dynaheir watched them from across the room as well, seated at a table of her own. Minsc stood just behind her.

Jaheira leaned forward herself, clasping her hands beneath her chin. "And what could you possibly need our help for?"

The woman explained to them then of how her contingent had come south from Baldur's Gate on a routine sweep of the area, tracking bandits. But with the increased activity along the road, no new orders had come for them in more than a week. Vai had set up headquarters in Beregost, and formed up smaller patrols to police the roads. They had ended up taking a frightening amount of casualties, however, as relays had been broken. She had had no other option but to recall as many of the men as she could, and regroup.

"My men and I are cut off from Baldur's Gate," she was saying. "I used to think that these bandits were just your usual brigands out to make a quick coin in troubled times," she shook her head, "but not anymore. They're working for someone …" She fixed her hard eyes back on the druid. "One way or another, I've got to get my troops back to the Gate. And that's where I was hoping you could help …"

The morning continued on much like that, Jaheira negotiating quietly and cunningly with whomever she could find around the town, moving from tavern to inn to bar … picking up every loose and stray swordsman she could find and determining just whether they might be able to help in their attack against the bandit camp.

"They did quite a number on me, those half-ogres did," a gray-haired old man in plated armor leaning on a spear had told them beside the bar as Jaheira bought him a drink. "But I'm still up for a fight, iffin' yer willin'. I've been meaning to take me a crack at those bandits for a long time now. Just was never much sense in doing it alone, you see …"

"I am Ajantis, squire paladin of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, servant to Helm, son of the noble family of Ilvastarr." The young, curly-haired man removed his horned helm, bowing down against his elegant sword in the dirt as they stood outside the Burning Wizard inn. He stood. "When I introduced myself, you perhaps heard when I referred to myself as a Squire knight. I am on a quest to earn my right to be a full fledged member of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart. T'would be an honor to join forces with you."

She never told the men she found too much – that they had already found out just where the bandit camp was hid. It was simply because they could not trust that that information would not leak out, that the bandits themselves would somehow learn of it. Or so she told Evelyn as they worked about the town. The younger woman never asked, but Jaheira always made a point of explaining to her just what the rationale behind everything she did really was so soon as they were alone. For her part, Eve listened attentively whenever she could.

"Edwin, Edwin Odesseiron." The man, sitting alone at a table in the Jovial Juggler at some point after they had returned briefly, was dressed all in red robes, the colors bright and almost painful to the eye. "A powerful wizard, as you might have guessed." He smiled complacently, almost predatorily. His accent was strange, and the words seemed to slip right off his tongue like a serpent. "But I will require compensation for my efforts. I will choose when the bandits are disposed of … and you will not refuse me my choice."

"Of course," the druid had agreed readily, though Evelyn knew at once that Jaheira distrusted the man as much as she did. Still, others were not so easily bought.

"Two hundred gold. Fifty for the each of us. And first pick of whatever loot they might have."

The half-Elven woman argued with the man – a mercenary she had informed Evelyn later – and his three companions for what seemed like hours. Half the time it had seemed as if they might come to blows, and the men behind the lead mercenary – Molkar they learned his name was – had each fingered axe, hammer, and sword, though their leader refrained from touching his. In the end Jaheira managed to get them to agree to a hundred gold – half then, and half after the task had been complete – and compensation in whatever they took from the bandits amounting to at least another two hundred gold coins. Evelyn had only stared wide-eyed as the woman managed to produce the mere fifty, however, wondering immediately how she had had the gall to lecture _her_ on throwing money around the last time they had been in the town. The other had only ignored her when she had remarked upon it later, however, declaring firmly, and cryptically, that she "had her sources."

They continued on like that for most of the day, but finally Evelyn grew tired of it all as the effort became redundant and fewer and fewer of the people they went to seemed to have anything to offer but demands for more money than their help could have possibly been worth, or drunken curses. The druid had not argued with her when she finally determined to return to the Jovial Juggler, though. The older woman only nodded her head and agreed that she return and get some rest.

They would be leaving early the next morning. And the two half-Elves would not give up their task until late that night.

* * *

The Jovial Juggler was somewhat busier when she returned, close to nightfall, but she tried to avoid any notice. She caught sight of only a few of the others, Jaheira having given the firm orders to make sure that they were well supplied and ready for the journey tomorrow. The older woman had been happy, at least, that the two Rashemi had agreed to join them. Xan, himself, had said nothing about the whole affair. But neither had he taken leave of them just yet. As far as Evelyn knew, he was still sharing a room with the other men upstairs.

She checked on that room, but didn't find the Elven mage. Instead she found Imoen trying to carry on a conversation with the captive Nashkel commander, sitting on the edge of a bed watching him intently where he was bound securely to a chair in the center of the room. She had been largely unsuccessful, however, or so it seemed by the way she leapt to her feet as her best friend poked in. She quickly shoved the responsibility off on Eve as the pink-haired woman said something about seeing the town and having some fun before they left tomorrow. Soon enough, Evelyn found herself sitting on the edge of that same bed, staring at Brage as she cradled her head in her hands, leaning forward on her knees.

"These bandits," the man abruptly began speaking after some time of silence, looking over at her. Evelyn stirred in surprise, having been lost deep in her own thoughts of just what tomorrow would bring.

"Yes?"

"You intend to assault an entire camp of them," he posed quietly, and she nodded her head after a moment. "How great are your numbers?" he asked.

She started tallying off all of those that they had recruited during the day, including the dozen or so Flaming Fist soldiers that Captain Jessa Vai had offered to put at their disposal, along with herself. But then she abruptly stopped in mid-sentence, leveling a dubious eye with the Amnish guardsman instead.

"Why do you want to know?"

The man's voice was calm and steady, and so were his eyes as he looked at her every so often. He seemed almost completely oblivious to the chair he had been forced to sit in without release since last night, or the ropes that bound him.

"Unless I miss my guess, the size of the force you will be up against must be great indeed." It seemed, to her, that he had been thinking about that matter a great deal. Or else he was just trying to convince her that he had. "I had heard the rumors when I was still Commander of the Nashkel Guard," he continued then. "And I saw some of the damage first hand myself. Fought a few of their patrols – and they _were_ patrols … or something distinctly similar. And if they have only grown more bold as I have heard from some of the others … They were organized already, of that I have no doubt. Unless you have a small army at your disposal … I doubt much for your chances."

Evelyn frowned at him, folding her arms before her. "And what would you suggest we do?" He gave her an intent look.

"From what I have seen of the woman who leads you thus far – she is an adept commander, I am sure … and there might be others amongst you as well. But you will need a great deal of good leadership to arrange such a monumental task and employ it correctly and … I doubt you have much in the way of true military leaders …"

She could easily see where the man was going with this, but she said nothing, and let him continue the thought on his own.

"I was the Commander of the Nashkel Guard before all of … this."

That dreadful nightmare that haunted him threatened to break his will suddenly just then, and he seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. But then he was steady once more.

"My men could tell you that I was no simpleton or fool in the execution of my post either. If nothing else, I am an accomplished swordsman … you must know that."

She wondered if he was trying to remind her of just who he had taken hostage so easily back in the forests south and west of there. Well, she had hardly been at her best at the time.

"And as I have said before – I am a dead man already. Let me at least do some good with what life I have left before the end."

Evelyn didn't answer him. Instead she only stared at him in silence for a long while. The commander's eyes seemed to plead with her for a time, but he soon gave up when she refused to speak. He twisted away as much as he could, rent at heart and sinking into an even deeper depression over events it seemed. Evelyn wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But a moment later, she stopped trying.

The door to the room they were in suddenly opened, but only a crack. They both heard the knob turn, and then the wood was swinging slowly inward, creaking loudly the whole way. They each stared at in silence as it did so.

Finally the door was open all the way, but no one was standing beyond it. Evelyn got to her feet a moment later, half wondering if Imoen was playing some silly prank on them as she moved quickly toward the opening. Brage watched her go without a word.

She examined the door with a frown, and then stuck her head out into the hall beyond … but found nothing. It was completely empty in either direction, only the intermittent doors upon either side standing silent vigil. Evelyn stepped out, turning around in a quick circle. But no one was there.

"Imoen?" she called out. But there was no answer. She took a step down the hall, but then twisted around abruptly as she heard something behind her. There was still nothing, however. And she started getting angry.

"Who's there?" she demanded loudly, pulling Fuller's dagger free from her waist and holding it threateningly before her. What exactly she was trying to threaten, though, she didn't know. Maybe she really _was_ going mad.

But it didn't _feel_ like anyone else was in her head just then. Only her.

"Foolish," she said angrily to herself, shaking her head. She tucked the dagger back at her side. Imoen and her fun. How could the other woman even think of such a thing at a time like that? She had to want vengeance for Gorion as much as her best friend did. Almost as much at least.

But then, suddenly, she did hear a voice.

"I am Death come for thee," a man whispered in her ear, and she instantly spun back around. "Surrender, and thy passage shall be … quicker."

She had half expected no one to be there again … but there was.

He was tall and dark, wearing a black coat and trousers. Two coal black eyes peered down at her intently, glinting like obsidian stones. A short sword was leveled at her heart.

The dagger was up between them as well in an instant. "Who are you? How did you find me?" She didn't know just who that man was, but his meaning was plain enough. At least there was only one this time. She hoped.

But the man only settled back, and smiled. "I am … everywhere …"

And then suddenly he was exploding in all directions at once, a half dozen or so people seeming to burst into the hallway from his chest as his lips moved quickly. They whipped past her and around, darting and leaping as she waved her dagger wildly through to keep them back. But then they were all around her. They all looked just like him.

Evelyn twisted around frantically from first one man to the next, each baring that same short blade, and each pointing it straight toward her heart. It was a vice, she realized then, circling her all around. And then it closed.

Each sword abruptly flashed inward, intent upon her chest. She threw herself down to the floor with a cry, just an inch ahead of losing her head. She looked back up, but steel made no sound as it pierced itself in a half dozen ways at once, almost beautiful in the deadly flower it seemed to form as they converged sharply above. Then they were pulling back, almost as quickly as they had come.

Evelyn leapt into a roll, coming before one of the men and thrusting her dagger into his leg. He made no sound though, and blood did not come spilling out as she pulled back. She didn't even feel the steel actually stick in the flesh at all. And then the circle was quickly back around her, the one man unperturbed.

She ducked as the blades all came at her as one again, but this time she was too slow. She couldn't know just where it came from, but metal slid against her shoulder, slicing down to flesh. She cried out in anger and surprise, tearing herself desperately away. But the men all followed her as one.

Again they came at her, but this time no blades stabbed for her heart. Instead six arms all grabbed for her at once, blurring in her vision as those black eyes all melted together around her. And then two hands were clutching her where all the others merely passed through, holding her tightly from behind.

"Struggle if you must, dead-one," he whispered in her ear. "I do not mind working for my money."

And then the hands were gone, and suddenly all six men were spinning around her quickly before coming to settle in place again. She could hardly have known which one was the one who had spoken.

It was an illusion she realized then, or thought as they all suddenly came for her once more. But before she could duck or move or do anything, those blades were suddenly all stabbing in different directions at once.

She tried to parry some with the dagger, dodge others, and just keep out of their way. But they were all around her. They were _everywhere_. Some passed through her … she was sure she was dead more times than she could count. But the ones that struck true only slipped along her skin, cutting thin pieces of her apart through her tunic until she was bleeding freely all over her body, her clothes stained in crimson.

"I shall enjoy thee for a long, _long_ time."

It all happened too fast. It had been no more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity as he slashed and sliced at her flesh, taking her slowly down, piece by bloody piece. She started to slow … blood ran into her eyes. The world was blurring around her. She hardly felt him slicing anymore …

And then, suddenly, it stopped.

She looked up, throwing back her blood-stained hair, and waited to see the assassin standing over her, that short blade ready for the final blow. But it never came. Instead … she saw a man tied to a chair, barreling down on the other all in black, and forcing him roughly into the wall.

The five other men in black coats all swarmed about the commander, but he had seen just who the real one was. He threw his bulk forward once more, slamming a shoulder and the side of his chair into the assassin against the wall.

The man in black stumbled back, his short sword in hand and the others suddenly fading away into nothing as he teetered there, dazed. But Brage was quickly whipping around, and sending two chair legs hurtling against the other's side. The assassin twisted over and went face first into the floor.

Brage started forward again, but the man suddenly kicked out one of his legs from beneath him. He pitched forward to one knee. Before he could get back up again, the assassin was flying down the hall and away. In another moment … he was gone.

The commander stood there, breathing hard, hunched over as the chair forced him to bend to its shape. He watched as the man in black fled, and then disappeared. Evelyn collapsed to the floor behind him.

The towering guard commander came whipping about instantly, throwing himself to his knees above her. He could hardly move his hands to check just how bad her wounds were, but she caught sight of his eyes briefly, swallowing back the blood she tasted in her throat. She could see well enough by the despair mirrored in them, that she was probably just as soon to be as dead as she felt. But he bent down close.

"Do not worry," he told her quickly. "I will bring your friends to help." And then he was leaping to his feet, and hobbling down the hall, the chair holding him fast and doubled over.

Evelyn half wondered, as she lay there in a steadily growing pool of her own blood, which was more pitiful, him or her.

As she thought about what she had intended to do tomorrow, however … she decided that _she_ was.


	28. Chapter 3 On the War Path

_**On the War Path**_

"What is _he_ doing free?"

Evelyn looked up toward the commander from where she sat on a chair in the men's room, catching sight of the older woman waving a hand toward the man briefly as she paced. Brage only stood, quietly, not moving from his corner.

"He saved me," Eve answered, glancing away. The druid only pursed her lips, and continued pacing.

"The true question is," the ranger muttered from his place against the door, "how did the man find her."

"And so soon," the druid added quickly.

Only Jaheira, her husband, and Kivan shared the room with Eve. All of the others had been sent on their way so that they could speak privately. Even Imoen. That Brage was there was only because the druid had yet to bind him to another chair. And they hardly needed the wanted Commander of the Nashkel Guard running around the inn common room freely again, showing his face for all to see.

The half-Elven woman stopped for a moment, faced with the Amnish man once more. She seemed very much as if hauling him out and tying him to another piece of furniture was precisely what she was going to do. But then Evelyn broke the silence before she could.

"How many assassins did you say attacked me in Nashkel?" She glanced up at the ranger across the room. For his part, Kivan only gave her a dubious frown. Jaheira too looked at her as if she might have gotten a blow to the head in with all that blood as well. But no … she had been thinking.

Brage looked from one to the other curiously, but, Eve noted quickly, it only seemed as if he were confused by it. He might put the attack on her moments before together with what they were saying then, though. The druid cast a brief eye toward him as well.

"Three …" the ranger told her, narrowing his eyes. "Why?"

Then she understood.

"No," Evelyn shook her head slowly. "There were four."

They were quiet for a moment. But then Jaheira was standing over her, hands on her shoulders. "Are you sure?"

Evelyn looked up at her, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. The other woman retreated at that.

"Then one must have escaped," she was saying, pacing away. "Or not. Either way their masters would have known of their failure. How long could they possibly have been tracking us? From Nashkel? Khalid and I in Beregost? The Gnolls?" She glanced at the raven-haired woman quickly. "Perhaps we led them right to you after Tranzig …"

But then she shook her head. "It does not matter. We will continue as planned. We can only hope that they know as little of those plans as possible …"

"I believe it is time we discussed those plans …" the ranger chided quietly from across the room, folding his arms across his chest. The druid only nodded.

"But first we must deal with him," she gestured toward the commander, who had not spoken a word since all of that began.

"Wait," the man raised his hands placatingly, "just wait a moment. Please."

Jaheira flipped her head to one side, leveling him with a hard stare. "Yes?"

"I know something of what you intend to do tomorrow …"

"All the more reason to gag you this time," the druid cut him off quickly.

"But you can hardly afford to leave me bound somewhere behind and hope that no one will find me."

"Just you wait and see what I can do."

The guard commander shook his head. "No. And you cannot take me with you either, not bound … not if you do not trust me."

"I think I have done a fair job so far of doing just that."

He ignored her. "Trust me," he pleaded then, "I beg you to trust me and lend you my sword in this."

"We already took your sword away."

The man clenched his teeth, but did not relent.

"Please," he continued, "I beg of you. I will swear an oath – in blood if I must. But let me fight and die with some shred of dignity. Let me do _something_ good to balance all the evil I have already done."

Evelyn looked from one to the other as the room suddenly became quiet. Brage, towering head and shoulders over the half-Elven woman, bulky and broad and all muscle, was almost pitiful and wretched as he bowed his head. It was a miracle that he had not fallen to his knees to continue his plea at the druid's feet. And Jaheira merely stood there, arms folded tightly and imperiously across her chest, as she stared the broken man down.

"Balance," the half-Elven woman muttered. And then she raised her voice so that he could hear. "I hardly think what little good you could do could ever possibly balance out what you have already done."

And then she turned on Evelyn.

"Do you trust him?" Her voice was clipped.

Evelyn looked up at the guard commander, catching his eyes as he glanced over toward the two. She nodded her head.

"Yes."

"Good." The druid canted her head abruptly, turning away. "Then he will be your responsibility from now on." Khalid stood.

She gave the older woman a wide-eyed look of surprise, but the other had already reached the door. "We continue as planned. I will gather the others, and suggest you get some sleep. Tomorrow you will all know just what we will do. Good night."

And then the door was closing behind her, the two half-Elves disappearing beyond. Kivan gave her an unreadable look. But then he was muttering something in Elvish and vanishing into the hall as well.

Then she and Brage were left alone, the one staring calmly at the other, though his eyes were red and intent. Whatever the man had done, whatever he thought he was _going_ to do … she just hoped desperately that she had not made a mistake in trusting him.

"I am in your debt," he told her, recomposing himself until there was no trace of the man who had been all but begging a woman on his knees mere moments before.

"I guess there's no need to tie you up again," was all she said, standing.

"If you really trust me," he told her, nodding, "then there should be no need. I will not betray you. On my honor … whatever is left of it."

She studied him in silence for several moments more, looking up to meet his dark eyes. She supposed it would just have to do.

"What now?" she asked. The man only flexed one wrist, frowning down at her.

"I will need a weapon."

* * *

The five men sat easily around the small fire, cleverly kept burning with a wood that let off no smoke. They would not have been seen by anyone for miles.

"Fallon!" one of the men suddenly barked, "pass the beans, aye?"

"I gots yer beans right here, Mac," another remarked readily. And then he tilted himself to one side, and let out a monstrous sound from his behind. One of the others started laughing, spilling the meal they had had cooking in a pot atop the fire from the crude bowl in his hand. The other had a dagger in hand.

"Aye, ya rumjake fool!" he snapped angrily, waving the small blade. "Ye better bloody cut it or I'll cut yer flamin' head off!"

"Ya both better cut it," a fourth stabbed a finger at each, "or I'll have yer bloody sacks in a vice! We got work to do, so 'urry up."

"And what's it today, Bren?" the second man asked with a grin. "More fat merchants fer the haul?"

The other, Bren, shook his head. "Not ta day, boys. The south road's been itchin' for a few more cracked skulls and shalla' graves. So Khosann be tellin' me."

A few others nodded their heads, returning to gulping down the bowls in their hands. One of the men lifted his head again after a few moments.

"So we finds this girl the other day–"

"Ye wouldn't know a girl if one were bloody wailin' her head off right in front a' ya, Mac!"

"Aye! I'm tellin' a story here, ya bloody lecher!"

"Prob'ly poked a hole through one a 'em bloody merchant guards and had yer way with it _thinkin' _it'was a girl …"

"That's it ya flamin' ingrate!" The man suddenly leapt to his feet, short blade in hand. "I'll have yer FLAMIN' HEAD!"

Bren was on his feet in the next instant, as was another of the men, and holding Mac back from running the Fallon through. "That's it ya blasted idiot!" the leader was yelling down at the other. "I said … LAY OFF!"

But Fallon was only laughing, nudging the man beside him with an elbow. "Bloke wouldn't know one end a' his own stick from another, aye Red? Aye?" He laughed, but the other man suddenly gagged. "What the bloody 'ells was that, Red? Swalla' yer tongue, ye old bastard?"

But then the bowl fell from the man's hands, and he toppled forward, crashing into the fire face first.

"BLOODY HELL!"

And then light was suddenly exploding through the trees, hurtling into the other five men. Mac went down almost immediately, a hole melting through the pit of his stomach as he flew from his feet. The man beside him struck earth the next instant, toppling over as some of that light hit him. Blades were in hand a moment later.

"TA' ARMS BOYS!" Bren bellowed, leading the sudden charge. An arrow tore open his throat.

The others didn't last much longer.

Evelyn was striding forward, out from the cover of the trees and into the midst of the small camp. None of the dead men stirred, all of the bandits still and unmoving against the earth. The one had caught fire, and the smell of his roasting flesh was thick in the air. She waited, but no more came.

"I told you that they were all I found," the ranger was saying as he moved out with the others to meet her. Even so, he had his bow with an arrow nocked to it in hand. Evelyn only frowned.

"I thought there'd be more."

"There will be," Brage said quietly as he knelt down beside one of the bandit corpses, briefly rummaging through his things. He stood a moment later. "Other groups will already be making sweeps of the roads. Hopefully there will be more returning to the camp come nightfall than staying in the field."

"I think the more _com_forting thought would be quite the opposite actually," Xan uttered beside him, giving the dead bandits a forlorn look. But the commander only shook his head.

"The more we crush in one swift stroke the better. But these are no ordinary bandits, I suppose. If we cut off the head it very well might be that they will scatter quickly enough. Not that I would trust to brigands to keep aground for long, mercenary or otherwise …"

Evelyn listened with half a mind, her thoughts far more intent upon just what would occur that night. Jaheira had shown her and Kivan a rough map, outlining just where the bandits were hiding their camp. It had been far north and east of Beregost, deep in the Wood of Sharp Teeth, at least a day's march through untamed forest. That they constantly had to scout for bandits like those they had just killed moving through the area was hardly helping them get there any faster. But they would be there by nightfall. Everything depended upon that.

The others were coming forward then, the ones that Jaheira had commanded would go with Eve. The older woman had broken their now larger group up into three separate ones, each taking a different path as they made for the hidden bandit camp on their own. Captain Vai and her Flaming Fist soldiers – fifteen altogether – would be approaching from the south, Jaheira and her group moving up and back down to come from the north. And that just left Evelyn with the rest, coming around to hit them from the east.

That the druid had left her in charge had been strange enough. Certainly the ranger, or even Brage might have been a better choice … but she supposed it was all she could have expected after yesterday. Jaheira had made a distinct effort to inform her of everything that she was doing, only the last of it – the actual plan for attack – being left until early that morning. It was the best way to insure that nothing went awry, the other woman had told her, because, by then, it was too late to really do anything about it. So far, no one had tried.

Imoen came up beside her then, leveling her eyes on the corpses about. She didn't say anything, only wrinkled her nose at the burning body atop the fire. Evelyn only wished that were the worst of the smells they had been awash with after coming so near.

"We should be moving," Kivan muttered at her side. Evelyn merely nodded at him. And then he was turning around and hurrying silently into the trees ahead. The red-robed wizard was the last to reach them.

"This is hardly fitting use of my talents," he remarked disdainfully as he took in sight of the dead bandits. Some of those holes punched through them had been his handiwork. "I did not agree to render my services to merely hounding un-bathed miscreants out for a few merchants' gold. Where is this camp?"

"Any 'un-bathed miscreant' who preys upon innocent men and women is worth our time, _wizard_," one of the knights was remarking irritably back. He was the younger, curly-haired one. Jaheira had given her both.

Edwin muttered something a little too loudly, but Evelyn hardly cared to catch what. "The lout speaks?" he demanded incredulously then. "Perhaps I should respond in kind. Something with _similar_ intellectual abilities should do …" He lifted one boot.

Ajantis took an angry step forward, teeth bared. But then the older knight, Bjornin, was clapping a hand firmly down on his shoulder. "Now, lad," he chided from behind, "no need to be startin' a fight in the ranks. Plenty o' bandits to spit on your blade instead."

"Yes," the wizard drawled, narrowing his eyes. "My patience is wearing thin. Take me to this camp!"

"Don't worry," was all Evelyn said, not looking at him. "We'll be there soon enough."

The rest of the march from then on proved largely uneventful. No more bandits moved into their path. Or if they did, then the ranger didn't tell her about it. It would take them enough time just to reach the camp at the right place by dusk. And she wouldn't dare risk Jaheira or the others by being late. The odds would be difficult enough as it was.

"Pardon my asking, my Lady," the younger knight was saying sometime later as they marched, "but how old are you?" It took Evelyn a moment to realize that he had been speaking to her, and Imoen gave her a playful nudge from behind.

"He thinks you're a Lady," she whispered loudly, laughing to herself. Evelyn only turned around.

"I don't know. Why does it matter?"

The curly-haired young man frowned at that, glancing about to the thick nests of trees that passed about. "Perhaps it would be best if you relinquished your place at our fore then," he offered, and hurried on abruptly at her hard look, "for your own safety, I mean of course …"

"I rather like where the girl is. Let her be arrow fodder for those of us who have some worth!"

"Silence your tongue, wizard!" Ajantis barked angrily back at him. "It is just that you are very young," he continued quickly, "and … well … a woman should not be first into battle … or even at all …"

Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks, and rounded upon the man. The others came to a slow halt as she did, and then she was stalking up to the young knight. He gave her a curious eye as she did so, but held his ground.

Brage and Xan stood off to one side, the commander looking to her as if she might need his help just then while the Elf only looked grim and too preoccupied to care. She ignored them both, looking straight into the curly-haired man's eyes.

"Give me your hand," she told him simply.

"My Lady, I don't see–"

"_Give_ me … your hand."

The man frowned at her again, but finally did as he was told, thrusting out one gauntleted hand as if he would shake it with hers. She took it alright, but she certainly didn't shake it.

With one swift motion she had the man's arm around and behind his back, forcing him down toward the ground in surprise. He tried to struggle at first, but she was too fast, and then she was kicking out his legs from under him. All at once she had him face down, face pressed firmly against the grass, his arm bent painfully behind him.

"You aren't any older than me," she whispered harshly into his ear, "so don't act like it. I can take care of myself."

She stood.

Imoen was arching an eyebrow at her, her green eyes dancing as she looked down at the man as he struggled back to his feet. The older knight had burst out in a hearty laugh, holding his sides at the sight while Edwin joined in beside him, sneering down at the other knight. Brage had only watched curiously, while Xan still looked gloomy. Evelyn didn't laugh.

Jaheira had told her to do it – had warned her that the three men might prove a problem. She had seemed to hope that Brage and Xan wouldn't, or the ranger, but she had told the younger woman that it would have hardly done to have one of them step in on her behalf. Evelyn had to prove to the other three that she was not to be trifled with, not if she wanted to earn and keep their respect. If she didn't, the druid had said, then they would not follow her … and they needed to just then. The only way they could keep as many people alive as possible was to keep as many people in order as possible.

She wondered briefly how the other woman would be handling the two Rashemi … or even the four mercenaries. But she had Khalid with her, and she was strong enough to deal with them all, Eve was sure. No one had had a second thought about Vai having any problems.

Evelyn moved back to their fore, and started through the forests once more. Bjornin struck the butt of his spear into the ground and gave the younger knight a hand in getting up, but Ajantis waved him away and climbed to his feet himself. The wizard kept that condescending grin on his face the whole time, but said nothing.

It had been more for Edwin than the two knights that Eve had done as Jaheira had said. But the older woman had warned her that the two men, as righteous as they might seem to be, might still be pompous. And they would immediately try to wrest control from her thinking only that they were protecting her from harm. Still, she had expected the wizard to be the one to push the issue. She would have liked to have shamed him rather than the knight.

The man tried his luck in speaking to her again, however, later after Kivan had returned and given her his hourly report. Nothing yet. Good enough. The knight was trying to edge his way past Imoen.

"This is a dangerous task," he remarked to her then. "Attacking the heart of the bandit threat itself. May I ask your motivation for pursuing it?" He seemed to be trying to ignore just what she had done to him earlier. Or looking to make up for it.

"I don't see why it's important for you to know." She pursed her lips, keeping her eyes in front of her. "You agreed to help. So did I."

"I am sorry, my Lady," he shook his head quickly, "but I have to contradict you. You are our leader, and you will make decisions that will be directly affected by your reasons for joining this righteous undertaking. To be able to trust you in dangerous situations … we _must_ know your motives."

"I never asked for yours," she responded evenly.

"You do not have to." He shook his head again. "I wear mine proudly on my breast for all the world to see. You, on the other hand, are a mystery. And yet you intend to lead us into battle."

"If you have a problem with it then you can leave."

"Curiosity then," he offered hastily. "I am merely curious, not trying to oust you from your position." She could still doubt that. "Tell me why you felt the need to risk your life so – in the interests of camaraderie, of course."

"And if I told you that someone very important to me was murdered by these bandits?" she suggested after another moment.

"Then I would wonder just whose death would drive such a young woman as you to seek blood for satisfaction. Husband, lover …?"

"Father," she almost spat at him. Those subtle jibes, even if he did not mean them to be so, were beginning to grate on her nerves. _As if I couldn't make that decision to come out here on my own_ … _or do what I intend to do. _She briefly wondered if he needed another demonstration.

"That is very sad news indeed, my Lady," he was trying to console her then. "Let me express my deepest condolences for your loss."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "And you have," she said quietly. "Are you done now?"

The man seemed almost apologetic then, finally taking her tone to heart. He let his eyes fall away for a moment, and, for a moment, Evelyn felt a little sorry for being so curt with him. They were all going to do something perilous together – in another time, she would have thought that was good reason for them to all be friends. But she knew Jaheira's example was the best. And losing any one of them would be easier if she didn't know them any more than she had to in the first place.

She felt a sudden wave of nausea at that, nearly missing her step. When did she become that cold? But then it was gone.

"Do not let yourself be overwhelmed by vengeance and hatred," the knight was saying quietly, sounding chagrined. He did not look at her. "I fully understand grief and pain … but do not let that wretchedness consume you. It is not befitting of the young, and beautiful."

And then he was gone, falling back through the others until he strode alone at their rear. Imoen was pushing forward then.

"What was _that_ all about?" she asked quietly. Evelyn only shook her head.

The pink-haired woman gave her a dubious eye, opening her mouth to speak. But then Kivan was suddenly bursting into view in front of them, bow in hand. He came to a hasty stop just before the two women.

"What happened?" Evelyn demanded instantly. The ranger was breathing hard, and looking almost feverish.

"Bandits," he whispered hurriedly. "I've found them. Their camp is just ahead. Quickly!"


	29. Chapter 3 The Art of War

_**The Art of War**_

"Is she here yet?"

"Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is to do that and not be seen?"

"I don't care … _is_ she here yet?"

The ranger growled at her in frustration, baring his teeth. But then he calmed himself after a moment, nodding his head sharply. "She is here." He muttered something else in Elvish under his breath.

"Good. What did she say?"

Evelyn sat crouched behind the dark trunk of a spruce, resting a hand along the rough, sticky bark and sticking her head out as far as she dared. The bandit camp lay before her, and only miles and miles of woodland behind. Whatever happened there that night … no one would be around to see it. That much was certain.

Kivan started relaying the druid's message, the one she must have given him from the north side of the camp. It _was_ a miracle that he had not been seen yet, given the half-dozen or so times she had had to send him scouting around the perimeter just to know when the others would be in position. She felt sorry for being so short with him, but he would understand, she was sure. There was no time for softness just then.

Jaheira and her group had set up at the north end of the camp, almost within shouting distance of where Evelyn was hiding. But there was the small matter of the thirty or so thatch-roofed huts that lay between them, and the one big one at its center. No matter how quiet the other ones might be … the big tent was never silent, or dark. And that was where they would find their peace at last.

The ranger's eyes fixed on it as he finished Jaheira's message, knowing as well as she did that they had only to reach it to take their vengeance. Gorion's murderer and Tazok could be nowhere else. She was sure the hate burning bright in his eyes was mirrored in her own.

Vai and the Flaming Fist soldiers would be moving up from their position soon – they had kept well back from the camp, being less likely to make as silent an approach as the others in their stout plate. They would be approaching the south edge of the camp soon, and then it would be up to Evelyn and Jaheira to make sure that they had a clean advance. Enough chaos and confusion sown beforehand and the Flaming Fist would plow right through the center of the enemy with ease.

The druid had put the bandit's numbers at somewhere between fifty and a hundred – far too large a force for them to hope to stand up against without losing nearly everyone they had brought with them. But they would strike hard and fast, hitting them from all sides and hopefully killing enough of them in the first few minutes to send the rest scattering to the four winds.

"There are plenty of sentries and patrols," the Elf remarked quietly, joining her in looking out to the camp ahead, "but they have not seen us yet. And many of the others will be sleeping in their huts. Those will be hit first, and we will kill as many in their sleep as we can."

Evelyn felt a pang of regret at the thought of it, briefly realizing just how bloody and murderous that night would truly be. To butcher men in their sleep … she kept trying to remember just what made them so different from all the thieves and cutthroats down there for doing that. But she supposed it didn't matter. It was the only way they could end their threat. Force with force, steel with steel, blood with blood … there could be no other way. It would all end tonight.

"When do we start?" was all she asked.

"The half-breed will give us her signal," he told her quietly. "We will know it when it comes."

"Does everyone know what to do?" She twisted back around toward the others. A few heads nodded up at her.

"Good," she turned back. "Then be ready."

Imoen and Brage flanked her to either side then, the one anxiously slipping knives out from her sleeve before sliding them back in again while the other only stared down at the sword in his hands. He had taken it from the bandits they had ambushed earlier that day, as well as an extra or two just in case. They seemed almost small in his hands, but as he looked up at her, she doubted he would have much trouble.

Her best friend would stay close by her side, having elected herself as something like Evelyn's personal bodyguard. Xan would be there too, his magicks, as he had stressed to her, being more adept at disabling and sowing confusion than making the killing blow. Edwin had declared his lack of such limitations. It would be him that they would rely on most in the first few moments – to match the Rashemi on the other side of the camp. And he didn't balk at that at least. He had seemed to enjoy assuming that roll.

The two knights, Ajantis and Bjornin, would keep close, but had freer reign with what they did. They would hardly enjoy slaughtering men in their sleep, even bandits, but had no qualms about engaging them in honest battle. Evelyn hardly thought the bandits would _give_ them an honest battle though, if they had their way. Still, there would be more than enough to go around.

A number of the men in the camp would be mercenaries, or so they had surmised from what Drizzt had told them. Brage had seemed to agree when he learned of it. So they could certainly expect a good amount of resistance if they allowed it enough time to organize. But they wouldn't. It was as simple as that. And the regular bandits would be a good deal less disciplined. They could count on that at least.

Kivan was the only one she wasn't as sure about. Brage too, but she could at least predict what she thought he might do. He had agreed to stay with her, but she hardly believed that he wouldn't throw himself quickly into the fray. He was so fond of quoting that he was a dead man already, and of all of them, he was the least afraid of what was to come. She knew that.

But the ranger only had his bow and his dagger, though she hardly expected much more of him in a stand up fight. She had seen him overcome all too often when his guard had finally been broken and the enemy gotten hand on him. And she didn't want what had happened at the Gnoll fortress to happen again in this place. She wanted him there with her at the end. They would both have their vengeance together. She had already promised him that.

They would stay close. They would _all_ stay close.

Imoen had a hand gently on her arm then, and she twisted her eyes over in surprise. The other woman gave her a small, reassuring smile. Evelyn tried to smile back.

"We'll get him, Eve," the other told her quietly. "We'll make him pay for what he did."

Evelyn placed her own hand over the other woman's, squeezing it softly. "Are you ready?" was all she asked.

"Are you?"

Evelyn only nodded, and turned away. But she hardly was. It didn't matter. She hefted the ashwood staff in her hands, and held her breath.

And then it happened.

A small ball of light was floating through the air, twinkling as it moved quickly into the middle of the camp. They all watched it as it went, speeding almost lazily out of sight. It disappeared … and then someone shouted.

Fire exploded everywhere. Men were screaming and hurtling angrily about, as a great plume of smoke suddenly burst into the air. One of the huts simply ceased to exist, along with everyone inside it. And then the others around it were disintegrating with the force of the blast as it whipped outwards, throwing men and storage crates and flaming, stolen goods everywhere. Everything went silent for a moment, as the entire camp suddenly seemed to catch its breath …

"Edwin!"

Evelyn didn't have to say anything. The wizard's tongue was already moving too quickly to make out his words, and then another of the small globes of light was hurtling forth from his hands into the camp. Another joined it from the other side. Both burst into sudden gouts of roaring flame, devouring everything in sight. But then the smoke cleared, and men were shouting everywhere.

"Now!"

They all jumped to their feet, another fireball already hissing away into the night. As it tore apart another set of huts and sleeping men, Evelyn and the others were charging out from the trees and into the fray. She could hear more than a dozen men suddenly howling as they did the same in gleaming plate at the south end of the camp beyond.

No more fireballs came, and men were already pouring out of the tents, some of them with weapons in hand or leather armor strapped across their chests, others all but naked and desperate to get away. As they reached the outskirts of the camp, Evelyn cracked one of them hurriedly upon the skull as she passed. Arrows were already hissing through the air behind her.

The sentries were the first to react, steel ringing loudly from their sheaths as they rushed the men and women that suddenly burst into their camp. A good number of them were cut down though, as another of the groups took them from behind even as they turned to strike. But too many of them had bows, and black-feathered shafts were soon filling the night around them. Evelyn lost track of how many of the bandits' own went down with that first haphazard volley.

One of the patrols suddenly happened upon them, even as Brage went to work on the remaining huts as they past. The towering Amnish commander took a small blade in his hand, cutting down the first man that stumbled out of one of the huts, and then the next a moment later. Snatching up a burning piece of wood from beneath him, he smashed it across the head of another bandit as he struggled to his feet, exploding into a flash of embers and howls of agony. He tossed it onto the thatched roof. If the inside had seemed to go quiet then after the first men made the mistake of rushing out, there was no doubt of how many were left inside as they all started screaming. Brage made sure that none escaped.

A knife took the bandit before Evelyn as she rushed to meet him, coming up short as the next drew back an arrow and leveled it at her chest. Xan flicked his wrist beside her, though, and the man flew back off his feet before he could loose. The last tried to run, but another knife suddenly bloomed in his back.

Minsc roared somewhere on the other side of the camp – they could all hear it then. And then there was only screaming. Evelyn and the others hurried on.

Bjornin was thrusting his spear through a half-dressed bandit as he suddenly rounded a hut in front of them, the man stumbling over into the dirt with a sharp cry. The next was luckier though. Before the old knight could retract the weapon, a dagger was hurtling toward him. It caught deep in his arm.

With a grunt, Bjornin was pulling the little blade free, tossing it instantly back at the other man. It took him in the chest, and he toppled over.

Light still flashed around them, Edwin hurling magic from the trees behind. Bandits had begun pouring in from that direction, closing Evelyn and the others in. But acid and fire tore them quickly apart, arrows piercing armor and flesh to throw them swiftly to the ground. And then there were only the ones ahead.

Her staff was whipping around, striking legs and wrists and the sides of heads – whatever got too close. Men were toppling over around her, falling to the ground and left groaning there in the earth. Evelyn hardly paused before leaping over them. She let those live … but not for long. Brage was following behind.

Ajantis was just before her, taking a bandit's short blade with his own long, elegant sword, and spinning around to slice at the legs of another. He twisted back and thrust up his shield, forcing a charging bandit to hurtle over him, and then slammed the thing into the face of the first. That one crashed down, limbs flailing wildly. Evelyn came up short beside the knight.

There was a moment then, as everything went still. The battle still raged on out of sight, but no more bandits spilled into view around them. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment before shouting back at Kivan and Edwin. They both came hurrying into sight a moment later, moving quickly toward the others. The wizard gave them a dubious look, but the ranger already had another arrow readied to his bow.

"Let's go."

They were nearing the center of the camp, all of the huts here either ash or in flames – all except the massive one in the center. The battlefield was open, and they could see the rest of the bandits hurrying about in every direction. More of them were fleeing than fighting, and Evelyn could already make out the plated mail of the Flaming Fist soldiers to their left. Jaheira would not be far off.

"To me! To me! To Taugosz Tenhammer, Talons!"

Men were suddenly rallying, drawing up ranks and pushing through those of the rampaging bandits as they made for one huge man in the center of it all. That one swung a massive war hammer around in the night air above his head, roaring out to the others around him with a shield in his other hand and thick plates strapped all along his body. He almost seemed more metal than man.

The Flaming Fist plowedforward into the fray, suddenly meeting with lines of mercenaries that formed up before them. Bowmen drew rank behind infantrymen with swords and spears and shields, all sheathed in chain with arrows drawn quickly to longbows behind. They all fired as one into the soldiers ahead.

Evelyn charged forward, the two knights fanning off to either side of her. Imoen and Xan were close on her heels, as was the ranger with Edwin. Brage brought up the rear, short blades in either hand.

Ajantis and Bjornin closed quickly with the men who turned to face them, swords and spears and shields in hand. But Vai and her men were cutting into their fore, and precious few caught sight of the others before it was too late. They were already smashing the flank beneath a small tide of steel and screaming death.

Wood and metal hissed through the air, dark shafts screaming toward the attackers that were quickly swarming in on all sides. Those arrows did not spare the bandits that still tried to flee or simply got in the way, Evelyn snatching up one of the men and spinning him around in front of her to catch a hasty volley thrown their way. She cast the man aside, leapt over him and into a roll as something shrieked over and past her head, and came back up on her feet in the next instant. And then she was thrusting her staff into a man's face, coming up hard at the bowmen arrayed behind the enemy's lines.

Edwin was throwing a hand forth, and before the bowmen could loose another volley into their midst, fire was tearing through them, throwing men every which way. The wizard laughed, baring his teeth. Xan stepped up beside him, and sent even more into the earth.

Some of the Flaming Fist were down, falling as they took the brunt of the assault. But Evelyn and the others had punched through the mercenaries' flank, cutting the archers down from behind. Brage plowed forward at their fore, tearing through steel and flesh alike, short blade in either hand. His tattered Amnish armor turned some men back as quickly as his steel.

Evelyn saw some Hobgoblins as she looked up from the battle briefly at one point, the pig-faced men waddling their stout bodies quickly to meet the Flaming Fist soldiers that had closed ranks around the mercenaries. Dark-shafted arrows tore into gleaming plate, and more of the Fist went down even as Captain Vai suddenly hurtled forward, barreling into the ugly beasts. The pig-faced men's assault was short-lived however, as Khalid and Minsc suddenly appeared, cutting into them from behind. The four mercenaries were close on their heels.

Someone bellowed as the lines began to break before them, and then suddenly a monstrous hammer was thundering down into the earth. It came away, the smashed remnants of a Flaming Fist's skull beneath it, metal collapsed into flesh. The man who had rallied the mercenaries – Taugosz Tenhammer – brought the massive bulk of metal quickly about and bashed another of the Fist in the chest, sending him sprawling. Brage pulled a sword free from the guts of one of the mercenary's … and then turned to meet him.

Evelyn ducked beneath an axe meant for her head, Ajantis suddenly sweeping his shield from beside and slitting the man's throat above her before bringing the long blade slicing down across his chest. The mercenary twisted over and down to the earth, and the raven-haired woman popped back up beside the other. She gave the young knight a hasty, grateful look, and then brought the staff around to strike hard into the side of another bandit. That one went down without a sound.

An arrow tore out the throat of the man before her, and she looked up to see Kivan suddenly thrusting his dagger through another who had gotten too close. Imoen leapt into view at her side just as Bjornin brought his spear whipping around to take a charging mercenary off his feet. And then there were no more.

The fighting ended just as abruptly as it had begun, Evelyn and the others scouring about of a sudden for any still left standing … but none of the bandits still had enough life left within them to put up much of a fight. All those who were not dead were scrounging around against the bloodied earth, trying to keep more guts inside them than out. The rest, it seemed, had fled.

Brage was the last to stop moving, squaring off with the mercenary leader and his massive hammer. That one roared through his thick beard down at the Amnish man who still somehow managed to seem smaller by comparison, whipping the steel face of his hammer about in wide circles for the commander's head. Brage leapt back each time, keeping low in a crouch. But then he had the mercenary's arm grasped firmly in one hand, his other bashing the man hard in the face with the hilt of his sword. A few more blows and Taugosz was stumbling back from his hammer with another bellowing cry from his huge, plated chest. And then Brage's blade was sweeping across his neck, the other one close behind it.

Taugosz took another failing step back, but didn't stop there. He opened his mouth, coughing up blood, his face a crimson mess of broken flesh. Then he was barreling forward, charging the Amnish commander. Brage ducked, twisted around to one side, and clubbed the man over the back of his grizzled head with a sword. As the man went down, the commander thrust the small blades through him once, twice … and a third time. The hulking mercenary did not get up again.

Everything went still then. Or rather, infinitely more so than it had been even mere moments before. The whole world seemed to suddenly settle from the blinding whirlwind it had been caught up in, and Evelyn was surprised that she was not suddenly left gasping for breath. Imoen was looking around them in surprise.

"We did it," she breathed incredulously. "I can't believe it …"

Evelyn glanced around quickly … but no, all those dead were the bandits and none of her own. Kivan, Bjornin, Xan … even Edwin and Ajantis – she suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of relief to see them all still standing with little more than scratches or shallow wounds to show they had just taken on almost a hundred men … and won. They had taken a distinct advantage in surprise and magic and sudden ferocity of course, but … but they had done it!

Vai had suffered the worse losses, though it was only a handful at best. Her men had been guarded better than any of them, with their shields and thick plate, and they had taken the worst of the fighting by far. Jaheira and Evelyn had only crushed the bandits between them. The Flaming Fist had stood up to them blow for blow.

The druid and her husband were there then, and Minsc and Dynaheir beyond them. The four mercenaries had hardly taken a scratch, but the mighty Rashemi was bleeding from more places than one. His eyes were bloodshot and unheeding though, his massive chest heaving as he looked around for more men to fight. The dark-skinned woman beside him was as calm as ever, her eyes once more on Eve.

They were encircling the front of the center hut, a massive work of wood instead of thatch that rose up into the night before them, all but untouched by the devastation around it. Jaheira spared it a quick glance, and then turned to the captain.

"Berret! Grayne! Get over there and secure the perimeter!" Vai was barking of a sudden before the other woman could speak. "We don't want these bastards getting away!"

Two of the Flaming Fist were suddenly shouting orders at the others, and then half a dozen of the plated men were jogging around toward the back of the large hut.

"We want them alive," Jaheira told the captain. "For now." The other woman only nodded.

The four mercenaries were there, the leader, Molkar, striding up toward the druid with a scowl on his face. "Where is our payment, half-Elf?" he demanded irritably. "We've done as you asked."

"The task is not finished yet." She scowled right back.

"You've destroyed half the bloody camp!" the man was waving an angry hand about to the devastation. "_Where_ is our loot?"

The druid gave him a hard look, but then tossed her head toward the large hut. "I'm certain you can find something appropriate on your own. But we are not finished here."

"No," the man muttered as he turned away, "we're not." And then he and the other three men were trudging along after the Flaming Fist soldiers toward the back of the hut.

"TAZOK!!"

Kivan was striding purposefully forward then before anyone could do anything else, howling at the top of his lungs with an arrow already readied and waiting. Jaheira and Vai both gave him a fierce look, but he seemed far past caring just then.

"COME OUT AND _FACE_ ME!"

The druid opened her mouth to shout at him, but then someone else saved her the trouble.

"OY! What's all this racket then?"

A man was pulling back the canvas at the opening to the large hut with a long blade and stepping out before them. He was wearing stout leather, his mane of coarse hair just a little more kept than every other corpse that littered the earth around them then. He waved the sword around in a circle at all of them as he moved forward.

"Don't them city folk teach you any manners anymore?" the man demanded, stepping down from the platform the large hut had been raised on. "Barging into people's camps and slaughtering all o' their men," he came to a halt a half-dozen paces from Jaheira and Vai. "Now that's hardly what I'd call polite."

"You are beaten," the druid declared loudly. "Surrender … and you might live."

The man only barked a laugh. "I should be sayin' the very same thing to you, but ah … we won't be lettin' ye live."

"Where is the half-breed _fiend_?" Kivan was hissing from one side. "Where is Tazok?"

The bandit turned toward him, and then his eyes widened in surprise. "Mask blind me eyes – if it ain't Tazok's old friend, the elfling! I don't be seein' the she-whore with ye though, boy … She enjoyin' her time as a corpse?"

The bow was up and leveled with the man's heart in an instant.

"If you value your worthless life at all," the ranger growled, his teeth bared, "you will tell me where Tazok is hiding."

"We have you surrounded," Jaheira spoke up loudly once more. "Your men are all dead or gone. You are beaten."

Two more figures appeared through the canvas of the hut above just then, a man in loose robes and a stumpy looking Hobgoblin beside him. The one leveled the group below with a fierce scowl, the other with a bow in hand.

"I'm afraid 'tis _you_ that's got themselves surrounded," the first man continued, waving that sword once more and raising his voice so that they all could hear. "Yer all o' ye surrounded!"

The half-Elven woman clenched her teeth, but it was Vai who spoke.

"Allow me, Jaheira," she offered with a small smile as she fixed her eyes on the bandit. "Before I'm done with him," she continued slowly, almost purring, "he'll be _begging_ us to let him fit the noose around his neck himself …"

"I'm tired of these games," the ranger grunted as he drew back the arrow. "Tazok will show his face … or I will cut off every one I see until I find him."

The bandit only gave each of them a contented look, as if no weapon in the world could touch him just then. Vai started forward leisurely, seeming intent upon making him think otherwise. But before she could reach him, before Kivan could loose his bow, steel suddenly screamed loose on the other side of the hut. The Flaming Fist soldiers were suddenly shouting from out of sight.

Every head turned as one to the sudden clamor, Evelyn taking a step closer in surprise as she heard men suddenly start crying out as they died. She could see nothing from where she stood, the fires burning beyond too low to make out anything. But she was all too sure what was happening then.

The man who had killed Gorion … Evelyn suddenly felt her heart sink as she stared into that darkness. It was _him_ … she was sure of it. Maybe Tazok too. They had tried to escape – or something, she almost laughed at the thought of it … but it didn't matter anymore. They would be coming soon … coming for them … coming for her. Her heart was nearly in her throat.

And then everything was quiet once more.

Evelyn looked sharply to Jaheira, but then they heard footsteps approaching fast from the rear of the hut. Before she could take a step back, one of the mercenaries hurried into view, along with the others, breathing hard. They had weapons out, and were looking back over their shoulders warily.

"What happened?" the druid was demanding harshly then. But Molkar ignored her, coming to a halt as he rounded on that strange scene now before him.

"'Ey, you lout!" the bandit was shouting at the mercenary. "I thought you were on assignment!"

Molkar only leveled his eyes with the other man, and nodded his head. "We were."

Evelyn wasn't quite sure what happened just then.

A hand was snatching her around the throat before she could blink, hauling her back roughly as a dagger pressed into her throat. Kivan had spun instantly on his heel and loosed an arrow toward the mercenary as he grabbed her instead, but Molkar forced her hastily into its path. Brage was bounding forward, light was flashing, and steel was back in hand, Ajantis baring his teeth. But Evelyn cried out suddenly then as she felt steel bite deep into the flesh just beneath her shoulder. The man only tightened his grip with a warning look.

Everyone stopped moving, Bjornin hauling the young knight back with a hand. But Jaheira abruptly leapt toward the lead bandit, her staff whipping about. The man only ducked back, avoiding the blow as he hurried back up the steps toward the front of the hut.

"Oy! Oy! Settle down there, lassie!" the man yelled back at her chidingly, stretching the sword between them. "Wouldn't want that pretty head o' yers to come off too soon."

"Take one more step," Molkar was bellowing loudly, pricking the raven-haired woman's neck suddenly with the dagger, "and she's dead!" Evelyn swallowed another cry in her throat.

Jaheira looked from first one man to the other, anger burning bright there in her eyes. She finally settled for the one holding Evelyn firmly in his grasp. "Mercenary scum!" she spat. The man only laughed.

"It might sting a wee bit more," he shouted back her, "iffin' we really _were_ mercenaries. But you see … we'd been tracking you for some time now – namely the girl here," he pulled her just a little bit closer and Evelyn tried not to wince, both her arms bound tight at her sides by the others iron grip, "and who could've guessed that you'd come lookin' fer _our_ help of all things. Only lucky ye kept her from us up until now, but I think this has gone on long enough."

Evelyn looked down to the arrow jutting out of her, feeling blood seep into her tunic to stain the leathers. It stung with every move the man behind her made, keeping her firmly before him with that dagger at her neck. Kivan was looking at it as well, his eyes wide with horror. But that hardly stopped him from having another ready and even with the mercenary's eye.

"My men?" Vai demanded, her eyes ice cold and fixed.

"Could use a bit more training, by my guess," one of the other mercenaries spoke up from behind. "Though it'd be a bit too late for that now, bein' dead and all as they are. Didn't even see it coming."

"Poor little Evelyn," Molkar breathed in her ear. "I assume you're completely clueless as to why you must die. I'm sure you've already had problems with an assortment of incompetent bounty hunters." He almost sounded sorry for that as he clicked his tongue. "Well those days are done, as you can see. Today … you will die."

She tried to get at the dagger hanging at her belt then, squirming fiercely in his grasp. But the man only laughed as she tried to force an elbow into his stomach, tightening his grip upon her.

"Oh ho! You'll be a feisty kill, little one."

"You hurt her and I _swear_ I will cut each one of you to pieces!" The druid hissed at them. As if to emphasize the threat, her husband twisted both scimitars about in his hands quickly from behind.

"Now, now, lassie," the bandit leader was raising a hand to her placatingly. "Shhh, shhhh. No need to get excited. Ye'll all have yer turn soon enough."

"You are forgetting just who outnumbers whom," the half-Elven woman shot right back. "You'd be dead before she even hit the ground!"

"Well I'll have to be askin' ya nicely to lay down all yer weapons then," the man swept his sword around slowly, "or the girl won't be the only one smilin' ear ta ear afore the night's through."

But Jaheira only shook her head. "As if I could trust the word of a thief and a murderer." The man only shrugged.

"Crush!" he barked back over his shoulder. The robed man and the pig-faced one beside him stepped to either side of the canvas. And then the bandit returned his gaze to the druid.

Hobgoblins suddenly started spilling out of the tent then, pushing their way past the canvas and marching steadily to either side until they lined the front of platform in even ranks. Jaheira took a sudden step back. Evelyn's eyes only went wider. There were at least a dozen, with one big one in thick furs and leathers standing at their center, blade in hand. That one barked a command. And all the rest were suddenly training bows on them.

The bandit only smiled. "You didn't think we were just cowering in there while you tore my entire camp apart this whole time … did you?"

Evelyn tried unsuccessfully once more to strike the man behind her – with an elbow, her foot, anything! But he was holding her at an odd angle, and it was all she could do not to fall onto the dagger at her throat. Everyone held their ground – except Edwin, who took a hasty, surreptitious step back and out of sight. Only Minsc, and Brage, seemed undaunted by any of it.

"Now I'll ask ye one more time," the bandit leader continued, raising a finger into the air. "Lay down your weapons …"

Jaheira only clenched her teeth tighter.

The man holding Evelyn suddenly grunted, and took a step forward. Eve hardly knew what he was doing, but was forced along with him, her boots scuffling along the earth to keep her upright. The mercenary seemed just as confused as her.

"'Ey, Molkar," one of the others barked from behind. "Ye got somethin' stickin' outta yer back!"

The man twisted his head around, but then something came hurtling toward him and out of the dark from behind. The others only watched as that thing leapt up onto the mercenary's back, pulling free the dagger planted there and plunging it straight into the side of the man's neck. The steel fell away from Evelyn's throat in surprise, and all three went down atop her.

"Run, Eve!" Imoen was shrieking at her, pulling the dying man from atop her as he gargled his bleeding throat in horror. But there was nowhere to go.

And then the bandit was roaring aloud.

"FIRE!"

A dozen bows responded in kind.

Before anyone could move, Brage was. He had a short blade bouncing easily in one hand, and hurtling up then toward the archers above. It took one of the Hobgoblins in the chest, slamming the pig-faced thing back into the hut. Then the commander was rounding on his heel with the other blade in hand, charging the three mercenaries as they suddenly made for the two women.

Arrows were hissing down all around them, too near for any to miss their mark. Minsc leapt in front of Dynaheir, two plunging deep into the side of his chest and stomach, another taking the Flaming Fist soldier beside him in the throat. Khalid managed to leap toward where Jaheira stood before the bandit leader, evading one but taking another in the arm before he pulled the half-Elven woman off her feet and away. Kivan sidestepped one of the dark shafts before quickly sending his own in reply. That one did not miss.

Stout plate sent a few arrows bounding back from the handful of Flaming Fist that remained, and Vai thrust her sword toward the archers, shouting their battle cry. Then an arrow took her in the side, and another in the chest. And she went down.

Ajantis threw up his shield instantly, catching those meant for him with the metal. The knight beside him was not so lucky, however. Bjornin hefted his spear in one hand, an arrow sticking out of chest, and sent it through one of the Hobgoblins. He grunted as another took him in the heart.

Evelyn stayed down, pulling Imoen to her and forcing her to do the same as Brage suddenly leapt over them. He grabbed one of the mercenaries as the other came at him with a blade, spinning them both around as he thrust his own sword into the next. The last swung at him with an axe, but he kicked the man away, throwing the short blade down after him. The last he took between his two hands, and snapped his neck. An arrow bloomed in his broad chest, and he came up short.

The Hobgoblins readied for another volley, but the others were already moving. Kivan was loosing arrow after arrow as fast as his hands would allow, and Minsc was leaping up onto the platform, steel sweeping cleanly through another of the pig-faced men. Xan had somehow remained untouched, and was throwing light up at them, sending bowmen flying from their feet. Imoen was on her own in an instant, and letting a dagger fly. Evelyn snapped the arrow in her shoulder in half.

Khalid was back on his feet, one arm hanging limp while the other swept up to take the bandit leader's head. The man parried the blade aside easily, but then the half-Elf was spinning down and around beneath the other's riposte, coming at his legs from below. The man went down with a sharp cry even as another arrow took Khalid in the side. He went down as well.

The robed man had raised his hands behind it all, chanting loudly as he looked down at the death spreading around him. He let those hands thrust forward, sending a sickly stream of green light screaming down toward one of the Flaming Fist as they charged forward. That one fell, a hole in his chest melting away as he howled aloud.

Fire leapt forward from the shadows, hurtling across the battlefield to strike the robed mage above in the chest. He erupted in flame of a sudden, shrieking as he stumbled forward and then threw himself off the platform and over to the ground below. Edwin was back in sight, shouting arcane words and throwing handfuls of fire into the fray, a rictus grin on his face. The Rashemi witch joined him from the other side, hurling more death at the archers from behind.

An arrow stuck deep in Ajantis' shield, and then he dropped the edge of it to one hand and sent the thing spinning up toward the platform above. The steel whipped into the Hobgoblin, knocking him off his feet. The last, the big one in furs, fell as Minsc pulled two feet of steel from its chest with his boot.

And then … it was over.

"Khalid!"

The druid cried out as she threw herself down to her knees beside her husband, sparing enough time to crush the bandit leader's throat with her staff before casting it away.

"You die," she shook her head fiercely, angry tears streaming down her cheeks, "and I … I swear I'll never let you hear the end of it!" She took the man's head in her hands.

It seemed as if everyone was screaming out someone's name then, or ducking down beside someone who had fallen, or just trying to keep themselves breathing long enough to know that they were still alive. Except Kivan. The ranger was bounding forward, up the steps toward the hut entrance above. As he ducked beneath the canvas and disappeared inside, Evelyn was hurrying frantically up after him.

She tried to ignore the burning pain in her shoulder as she ran, as well as everyone else who had fallen about. She tried not to look. It had all happened too fast, and she hadn't even let her mind fully come to grips with it yet. The Elf running ahead of her and toward his vengeance above was all she saw then.

Gorion's dagger was in her hand as she tore the canvas aside, stepping into the bandit leader's hut. It was a large open space, tables still spread with a half-eaten meal, weapons and armor hung along and against the wooden walls all around. She saw a few emblems against those walls – one with a black grasping bird's claw, the other a steel fist on a field of blue. A large throne rose up at the opposite end of the room, too large for any normal man to sit in. It was before that that she found Kivan.

The ranger was casting about everywhere, his bow in hand. But no one was there. His dark eyes were like fierce augers, threatening to tear the room apart by sheer force of their overwhelming hatred alone. His teeth were showing as his lips curled back in a bestial snarl. But no one was there.

"NO!" he was whipping his bow across the room with a bellowing roar, his dagger soon following it as he screamed at the top of his lungs. The steel tore through one of those emblems, sticking deep into a wooden beam. Evelyn's eyes followed it as it struck there, trembling slightly with the force of the blow. And then she turned back to the ranger.

"He's not here," Kivan was saying quietly, his eyes wide and lost. "He's NOT HERE!" He suddenly upended one of the tables with another frustrated howl, metal and wood clattering loudly to the floor. His eyes wandered for a moment, seething breaths racking his chest. "He's not here …"

He collapsed in on himself suddenly, falling down to his knees. "All this …," he shook his head slowly, not believing, "… all this … for nothing …"

Evelyn looked around quickly, but there was no other way out. Gorion's murderer and Tazok could not have fled … not without leaving some sign of their passing. They had never been there at all. They had never been there …

Kivan seemed to catch sight of her then, but it was only to glance at her briefly before letting his eyes fall down to the wood floor once more. He shook his head slowly. "What of your promises?" he muttered bitterly. "What of our revenge …"

She stuck Gorion's dagger back into her pack with numb, trembling fingers. There would be no vengeance there that night. And the price they had paid for it … to be robbed of it at the very end … it was almost too much …

"I don't know," was all she said.

She moved forward, slowly coming to stand before the other. He didn't look at her, instead casting his eyes over across the hut toward where his dagger stuck in the wood. She knelt down in front of him.

"Kivan …"

"No!" he snapped, looking up at her. "There is nothing to say. If you are right …" His head bobbed suddenly as if listening to someone else, and then he swallowed. "If you are right, then it does not matter. I tried … and I failed. It does not matter … it never did."

She was shaking her head, but he didn't let her speak.

"All of this for nothing," he continued, staring at nothing as he suddenly laughed. There was no humor in it though. "It never mattered. I am tired of it."

His hand was snaking forward toward her waist, and suddenly he had her dagger in his hand. In one blind moment of panic, she thought it would plunge deep into her stomach … but then he turned the steel around, and guided it toward his heart.

"I am tired of it."

She snatched his hands in hers instantly, trying to wrestle the knife frantically away from him. He was far stronger than her, though, and the wound in her shoulder stung fiercely at the sudden struggle besides. He shrugged her grip easily from him.

He thrust her over and back, and she caught sight of him briefly as he brought the dagger back to his heart, ready to thrust it deep. Her foot struck out instantly and took him in the face, however. And he went down as well.

She was back up in an instant, and leaping forward atop him. His hand with the dagger fell away and she snatched it quickly from his grasp before he could bring it back around. And then she had it at his neck, her face mere inches from his and all cold fury. She glared down at him.

"This isn't over!" she hissed at him quietly then. "You aren't running away, not now – not after all of this. I won't let you!"

He rolled his head back up towards her, his eyes all but vacant. "What are you going to do?" He gestured slightly toward the knife at his throat. "It's over, Evelyn."

"NO IT'S NOT!" she shrieked at him, slamming her palm down on the wood beside his head. "Tazok is still out there! My father's _murderer_ is still out there!" There were tears in her eyes. "And you aren't giving up! _Not_ now!" She pounded her hand down hard once more. "Not when we're so close!"

But the Elf only shook his head, letting himself slump back down against the wood. "It's too late," he muttered. "We've failed … we were too late …"

She continued glaring down at him, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. He kept muttering, swallowing back fierce tears of his own. But his words had grown hollow. She felt her patience slip just that much more, and then her voice was dangerous and low.

"If you're too much of a coward to help me or even yourself," she hissed at him, daggers of eyes stabbing at his own, "… then I don't see why Deheriana should _ever_ take you back …"

She was flying threw the air and back into the upturned table before she knew what had happened, slamming hard back into wood. The dagger clattered free from her grasp. And then Kivan was suddenly pounding both his hands into her, holding her fast.

Evelyn cried out as she felt his grip push the arrowhead even deep into her shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Her anger suddenly melted away to blinding pain. When she opened them again she could barely see the other they were blurring so much. But that didn't stop him from slamming into her again full force.

She was crying then, loudly and abruptly while sobs racked her chest with the agony of it all. The other didn't say anything, merely held her firmly back against the table. His eyes burned into her with a fierce and sudden hatred that she could hardly have hoped to flee, and if he had not forgotten the dagger just then, she was sure he would not have hesitated in using it on her instead this time around. But he just knelt there, holding his iron grip on her arms, and glaring balefully into her. She only tried to double over, tears streaming down the sides of her face.

Those moments seemed to stretch on forever, and it was a wonder he didn't kill her just then. He seemed very much as if he wanted to, and she could hardly have stopped him. The overwhelming pain in her shoulder had robbed the rest of her body of its strength, and she already felt herself growing numb and dizzy.

Then … he just let her go.

She toppled forward almost instantly, too weak to hold herself up. Then she lay there, sobbing into the floor and desperately trying to will her body enough strength to uncurl itself so that she could stand. It took too long, though.

Sometime later … she felt hands hauling her slowly back to her feet. They steadied her there for a moment. And she fought to keep her balance.

When she finally forced her eyes open again, swiping the back of a hand so that she could see … it was not Kivan who stood before her. Rather, it was the Elven mage. His face was grim as he studied her.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his voice strangely gentle.

After a moment, Evelyn cast about the room, still scrubbing at her eyes and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her shoulder. But they were alone. There was no one there.

"Where is …?" She had to catch herself for a moment, and take a steadying breath. "Where is Kivan?" She tried to stifle a sob.

Xan only shook his head, still studying her intently. "The last I saw of him he was moving away westward from the camp. He said not a word to me or anyone else."

She looked away toward the entrance to the hut, her mouth falling open. She could hardly believe the man's words … suddenly feeling a little piece of hope die inside of her. She almost didn't notice the Elf catch her as she started to fall once more. But then her thoughts went numb.

"Come … you are wounded," he was saying quietly to her then. "We cannot stay here long." She let him drag her away.

When they were back outside once more, she felt the truth of what he had said suddenly come slamming back down on her. But she was numb. She could hardly feel anything just then. And she didn't want to.

She looked around … but Kivan was gone. Somehow, she didn't think he was ever coming back.

And somehow … that hit her harder than any physical blow of his ever could.


	30. Chapter 4 The Dirge

_**The Dirge**_

As darkness fell, Evelyn drifted.

The Wood of Sharp Teeth rose about her, ominous and dark. Shadows hung from the branches of every tree, seeming to swing slowly in the breeze. She tried not to look at them, the sight hurting her eyes. But as soon as she turned away, they were flitting in every direction around her … and she could hear what sounded like screaming in the wind. Everything else was still. They were all that moved.

She looked down and saw herself … resting tightly bound in her own cloak some distance from the glowing embers of a dying fire. Her face was twisted into a grimace of pain, but she didn't feel it. There were others there … she could almost see them … but then the wind suddenly caught her. Everything blurred as she blew away.

She was back in the bandit camp then, the place as much a tomb of felled and now rotting bodies as she had left it. But shapes suddenly moved past her, billowing along in all directions. Men were everywhere … talking, laughing … One walked right through her, and she felt a chill crawl up her spine.

The wind suddenly came back, gusting powerfully. The entire camp just seemed to vanish, all the shades of dead men torn apart and scattered like dry leaves. She thought she heard screaming … but then the gust was lifting her high above the camp and woods both.

Her arc crested in the high morning sun, light streaming down over clouds to bathe her in its sudden warmth. It washed away all feeling of numbness or chill, and, for a moment, she was as free as a bird – free from any duty to those below. For a moment … it was the greatest peace she had ever known.

Something grabbed her, unseen hands that tore her eyes away from the heavens and back down to the earth below. She suddenly felt solid once more, whole, and somehow drifting there high above the clouds. But then those unseen hands began to pull, desperate to have her back. In another moment, she was plunging back down to the earth, less like a sparrow and more like a catapult stone.

Without impact or fanfare, the ground accepted her and did not strike back. In a moment, all was black … delving deeper and deeper as the earth rushed past in a blind flurry of stone and rock. And then it stopped. And for all she knew, she had descended to the very core of the world itself.

Had she needed air to breathe down there in that black abyss she might have panicked just then. But there was nothing. The only fear she felt, momentary and fleeting as thought abruptly fluttered away like a leaf in the wind, was that she had somehow found her tomb … bound at the very core of the world in darkness for all eternity. But then she suddenly stepped forward.

Light bloomed all around, lighting the cavern that she found herself in about her. It seemed to come from the very stones themselves, and pulsed in rhythm like a beating heart. She could barely see more than a few steps ahead or behind, and she stumbled onward into the gloom only to come up short a moment later. Something brought her back around … and where she had stood a moment before …

She found herself face to face … with herself.

She took a step back without thinking … but the other did not move. It took her a moment to realize, but the thing before her was made of stone. It was an exact likeness down to the last detail – her shadowy, shoulder-length hair, unkempt … her dark brown eyes almost black, soft cheekbones and oval face. It had been innocent once. And that one, unheeding and unconcerned with the world about … still was.

The other stood there, naked and unabashed, still and unwavering against the ageless stone about. Evelyn felt her hand stretching forward toward the other's face … but then something held her back. She suddenly didn't want to know just what might happen if the two somehow came to meet.

A voice was all around her then, drifting forth from the walls. _Such pride undeserved, great predator,_ it rumbled on like stone,_ when your whole being is borrowed …_

It seemed to address the woman before her, though Evelyn felt those words echo in her ownhead instead. They were familiar.

_Credit where credit is due_, the cavern shook with the force of it, _and dues where payment is demanded._

She clutched at her ears, desperate to block it out. It was boring into the back of her skull.

Something hurtled out of the darkness, a dagger of bone flying to strike the statue, square. It cracked, slightly, but it was Evelyn who suddenly doubled over in pain, trying to scream out as she was rent asunder. Somewhere in the blinding torrent of it all, she had sense enough to realize, though, that she was somehow still one piece … if not entirely whole.

_You were made as you are_, the voice was taunting her, like a rockslide down a mountain, _and you can also be broken_.

She managed to pull herself back up, unable to speak and looking fiercely toward the likeness of her. Its face had not changed, still peaceful and proud, even though Evelyn was baring her teeth. For a moment, she suddenly felt the urge to leap at the thing, and finish what the dagger of bone had started. For a moment, she didn't care. But then something pushed her back and off her feet … and she fell deep into the void.

She did not come to rest until morning.

* * *

"The _whole_ place was dirty to the core."

Evelyn frowned, looking up from the fire to the Elven man smoking a pipe across from her. His name was Ender Sai – or so he had told them – and Imoen had found him tied up somewhere in the back of the camp. She hadn't bothered to ask how he had managed to survive the attack, but she supposed it didn't matter. He was the next best thing to a live prisoner to interrogate, and had had no compunctions about telling them everything.

"These weren't your ordinary bandits." He was shaking his head, staring intently into the ground. "Part Black Talons and part Chill, and led by Taugosz Khosann and that creepy smart Hobgoblin, Ardenor Crush. There were others … elsewhere, like that priest Mulahey sent to poison the mines of Nashkel. Set himself up as a kobold god returned and legions of the brainless barking fools believed him, ready to do his bidding 'til death do they part …"

He fell silent for a moment, and Evelyn leaned forward.

"Mulahey is dead. We know he was working for Tazok."

"The question is," Xan spoke up softly beside her, "who is Tazok working for?"

Evelyn glanced at him briefly, frowning once more. If they had only _known_ the answer to that … if he had only waited to find out just _why_ … But, no. He was gone. There was nothing for it now … but to continue.

They sat around the small fire – just her, Imoen, Xan and Ender Sai. It was the second night since they had left the bandit camp in ruins, and they were just then nearing Beregost. They had had to travel much slower on their return due to the wounded. But they would be in the town by tomorrow.

"But that's the trick, see?" the Elven man in dark leathers suddenly said, shaking the pipe between his fingers at them. He looked up. "Crush and Taugosz Khosann both _thought_ he was getting orders from the Zhents, and Tazok doesn't do much to discourage that particular line of thinking. But the Black Talons and Chill are bandit groups, see?" He waved a hand aside. "They ply the trade routes, avoid the cities, and that's where they go wrong. I'm from the Gate and I can tell you dead as leather," he thrust a finger into the ground, "that the Zhentarim _aren't_ behind this."

"What do you mean?" Evelyn asked. But the mage broke in before the other could answer.

"How can you be so sure?"

"A desire for silence isn't the _only_ reason I wear soft-soled boots." Sai tapped a finger to the leather. "I wear 'em so I can tell whose _toes_ I'm treading on. I didn't mess with no Zhentarim. I picked my enemies and I messed with one group and one group only -- the Iron Throne. And, right as rain, there I was as Tazok's personal prisoner. Think about it." He took a long draw on the pipe as he leaned back.

"If the … _Iron Throne_ … _is_ behind Tazok …" Evelyn began slowly, stumbling over that name and shaking her head. She had never heard of it before. Then again, she had never been to Baldur's Gate. She looked to the other. "Where can we find them?"

"Tazok's been making regular visits to the Cloakwood," the man offered after a moment, squinting thoughtfully as he looked toward the trees above, "so that's where I'd start if I were you. I managed to peek at some of Tazok's personal letters when no one was looking or beating in my skull as well." He puffed again at the pipe, still looking away. "From a man named Davaeorn as I recall," he gestured vaguely with a hand, "saying something about late mining shipments, stepping up raids … a mercenary group that some Sarevok had taken an interest in … a lot of that. I wish I could tell you more."

Evelyn only nodded, but didn't say anything. Her best friend had sat in silence the entire time, not even looking at them, and she doubted whether any of it had reached her at all. It didn't matter though. Xan, at least, had seemed to take an interest in just what would come next. At least, she hoped she could trust it.

"I think that's it for me for the night," Ender Sai was saying then, unfolding his legs and climbing to his feet. "At the first sign of civilization I'm afraid I'll be parting ways with you. I've done all that I can … for now." And with a tip of his pipe, he was moving away from the fire. Evelyn watched him go.

"Another case of misguided optimism," the mage sighed beside her after the other had gone. "Look closely at that man," he gestured with his head off after the other Elf. "Note that he thinks he is playing it _safe_, since he only has _one_ enemy who is powerful enough to swallow him whole." And then he turned away, his voice softening. "Note this very well."

Evelyn stood and moved away, leaving the other two alone. They were some of the few that had been fortunate enough to escape the bandit camp more or less unscathed – Eve herself still sported a bandage wrapped tightly around her should beneath her arm. Others … had not been so lucky.

She came to Jaheira quickly enough, the older woman having retreated from the fire and the others to tend to her husband in peace. He had taken two arrows during the attack, and gods knew what else – the druid only told her that it was some vicious kind of poison that would have quickly killed him had she not been so close. One of the Hobgoblin archers had envenomed his arrows, but they were not sure which – not that it really mattered now. The damage had been done, and they had already lost one more to the poison. Only three of the Flaming Fist remained. Captain Vai had not been so lucky.

"How is he?" Evelyn asked, kneeling down opposite Jaheira above her husband. The half-Elven woman only shook her head.

"He will be fine."

She seemed to put on a brave face for the younger woman, though whether or not she meant what she said Eve could hardly be sure. Jaheira had healed Khalid of his poison, using a good amount of her energy to do so, but the man's skin was still sunken and sallow. It had been difficult to undo the damage that had already been done, but the older woman had not left her husband's side for a moment since he fell. Instead she poured all of her will into seeing him healed. And she was beginning to look a little pale herself.

"Ender Sai says that Tazok had been going to the Cloakwood Forest," she told the other, keeping her voice even and avoiding having to look at the man beneath her. Jaheira never took her eyes away. "If we're going to find him … then I think that's where we should go looking next."

"Tazok …" the other trailed off, not looking up at the younger woman. She barked a bitter laugh. "All this death for a monster we do not even know." She shook her head. "And what have we done to avenge Gorion?"

A woman's voice peaked of a sudden, and Evelyn glanced over only to see Dynaheir seemingly chewing Minsc's ear off over something. The Rashemi quieted her voice instantly, but continued on lecturing the giant man with a hard eye. It seemed as if it had something to do with his wounds, and the gauze that wrapped his massive chest and stomach that he had ignored for the past two days. But she could hardly be sure. Across from them, on the other side of the small camp, the red-robed wizard sat, studying both. His eyes did not waver for a moment.

Edwin had surprised them all – just after the battle. With the dead lying all around him, the wounded still desperately licking their wounds, he had stalked up to them and demanded loudly that he receive his payment then and there – the one thing that he had told Jaheira he would have first pick of after the deed had been done. And he had demanded the Rashemi witch – Dynaheir. Even with two arrows sticking out of him, Minsc had quickly moved between the two, ready to cleave the other should he have the need. But Edwin had only recalled Jaheira's agreement to mind, claiming that it was binding and that that payment was due. The druid, though, had said nothing. Khalid had been dying at her feet.

It had not taken long for Ajantis to step in on the Rashemi's behalf, quoting on honor and chivalry, or something … and Brage had stood somewhere close by, half an arrow jutting forth from his chest and cradling a sword in his hand. They would have descended upon the wizard as one to keep him from claiming the witch … and Evelyn had hardly dared to imagine just what might have happened to at least some of them should they have tested his magicks. She had seen what he could do. She had seen what _both_ of them could do. He and Dynaheir would have torn the entire camp apart anew.

So Evelyn had stepped in, Xan at her side and soon Imoen too. She had told Edwin just what she thought of his intent to have them release Dynaheir to him and using their vague agreement as justification for it. He had been incensed at first, but quickly realized that he was greatly outnumbered. She had thought he might storm off, or attack them anyways … but then he had done something else entirely. He had _warned_ her of just how dangerous the Rashemi could be – that she couldn't be trusted, and that _he_ was the only one capable of countering her threat. He had offered his help in doing just that … nearly _begging_ for her to allow him to stay while making it sound like some righteous demand. It had been almost comical, given how fiercely determined he had been to shed blood if needed to get what he wanted mere moments before. But she had hardly been in a laughing mood. With one look at the dark-skinned woman, those black eyes never leaving Evelyn for a moment … she had agreed. She didn't trust Dynaheir. She didn't trust Edwin. And they both didn't trust each other. That, she hoped, would keep them in line. At least for now.

"The man who killed him won't be far," she looked back to Jaheira then, but the older woman had all but forgotten her. "We will find him," she continued anyways, "I know we will."

After what seemed like forever, the other finally nodded. "Perhaps. We owe him a debt of pain."

Those hard dark eyes found hers, cracked and rent. Evelyn could see unshed tears in them, and they were red and swollen. The woman had hardly spoken to anyone since they had left the bandit camp.

Evelyn looked down to Khalid, his wife's eyes following soon after. They both stared in silence for a time, and she knew just what she wanted to do then. She couldn't stand to see the two people who had all but adopted her in Gorion's stead, caring and comforting her as the world around her suddenly grew dark and bloodied, so broken and devastated. She had promised that she wouldn't let anyone suffer for her again. She had seen too much blood already.

She knew just what she would do.

Sometime later, when Jaheira had finally given up her bleak thoughts for the night and collapsed in exhaustion next to her dying husband, Evelyn crept back, and took the man's hand in hers. Willing that beast from within to respond just once more, she let a little of that power bleed into his sunken flesh. When she was done, she bent over and kissed the older woman on the top of her head.

"Never again," she whispered then. "Never again. You both will be happy."

And with that, she stood, and retreated back to her cloak for the night. She tried to ignore how dizzy she suddenly felt, or the way she could still feel that black thing pulsing inside her chest and around her heart. Eventually, it went away. And she slept.

* * *

It was raining.

Sometime earlier that morning all of the heavens had opened wide and poured down to Faerûn below. It had persisted, steady and insistent, until the last of the Wood of Sharp Teeth was drowned in slick bark and drooping branches behind. It was not angry – no thunder cracked the sky or lightning stabbed the earth – yet. But that dull downpour roar washed everything away.

It was the first time that it had rained, Evelyn thought suddenly, since she had left Candlekeep … since Gorion had died. Now it was like the heavens above were finally weeping for so great and kind a man ripped from that world. That she had been the cause of it … well maybe that was why the rain struck her harder, drenched her faster, and made her clinging clothes weigh down all the heavier. Or maybe it was because she was tired and marching ahead and alone. Who knew …

At length, Beregost came before them once more. The slate-roofed houses ran and poured down in streams to the muddied cobbles below. It was only afternoon, but the town might as well have been abandoned for all the people that could be seen braving the storms from that distance. Evelyn almost wondered if she'd see ghosts when she finally went to sleep there too. She doubted it would be enough to keep her awake.

She came to a stop on the top of a rise, and the others eventually caught up behind her. No one had chided her for keeping her distance. Bandits couldn't have been much of a threat anymore anyways. Otherwise … it really had all been for nothing.

"We should not have seen this place again," someone spoke up quietly at her elbow. When she turned aside, it was Xan. He gave her a sad look. "Perhaps it is _fitting_ that its stillness speaks so much of death."

The Elf glanced up toward the darkening clouds above, earning only a face-full of rain for his trouble. "Or perhaps the gods have decided to make us feel safe before drowning us in our beds." He returned to her. "Perhaps … you might learn how to swim this time."

The mage was gone without another word, starting on downward toward the town below. The young, curly-haired knight replaced him.

"My Lady," he began, giving her a tentative frown, "perhaps you should don your hood …"

Her dark hair was even darker, matted down in ragged curls against her skull and neck. She hardly paid it any heed. She had long since stopped caring about whether anyone saw her face.

After a moment, the man made half as if to reach over and do it for her, but then stopped, probably thinking better of it. The afternoon before the bandit camp would have undoubtedly been all too fresh in his mind … and she was not so sure she wouldn't do the same to him again should he ask for it. Instead, Ajantis jerked his head away and continued on.

By the time Brage reached her, the bulky Amnish commander trudging along behind Imoen, her best friend still deep in whatever black thoughts had kept her all day, all of the others had passed, and Evelyn fell into step at the rear. The broad man with his bandaged chest gave her an unreadable look, but said nothing. For her part, Evelyn continued on behind in silence. It seemed fitting, at least, that she be the last to return to some peace and comfort – and escape that downpour. It was for everyone who had died – all those who had fallen because of her … because of what she did or didn't do. It was for them. It was for Gorion. But it was mostly just for her.

For the innocent young girl she had destroyed.

She could hear thunder.


	31. Chapter 4 Parting Words

Parting Words

_**Parting Words**_

Lightning cracked the bloated sky above in blinding light. It did not touch the shadows below, however. The town of Beregost lay as deathly still and quiet beneath the sheets of falling rain as it had all afternoon. It was nearly dusk, though it was impossible to tell for sure. The gloom merely grew thicker, and a fog had risen between the many slate-roofed buildings. It was getting cold.

True to his word, Ender Sai had fled quickly and quietly as soon as they had reached civilization, despite the storm. The three Flaming Fist had left soon after, a stern, hard-faced man named Sergeant Grayne leading them now. He had been one of those who had been surprised and cut down by the mercenaries behind the bandit leader's tent, but had somehow survived. The empty eye-socket in his face now only made him seem all the fiercer, and the bloody bandage that wrapped it did little to smooth his features. He had given them some gruff parting words of thanks for their help in destroying the bandits, and then swept the others up in his wake. None of them had been happy about Captain Vai's death.

The last one to go had been Brage. Digging what remained of the barbed arrowhead out of his chest with an old dagger, he had re-bandaged the wound and promptly gone. He had told Evelyn that he meant to return to Nashkel and face justice when she asked, whatever that might be. After all he had done, it seemed a terrible end to a man who had more than proved his virtue in the past few days. She would have stopped him, but she thought she understood all too well just what he was feeling then. It was his dark form that she was watching now from beneath the rafters of the Jovial Juggler as it trudged away south along the muddied road. It did not take long for the fog to swallow him whole, though. And she didn't think much of his halfhearted promise that he might see them all again someday.

She looked away.

Khalid had recovered soon after last night. But Jaheira had hardly seemed happier for it. Instead she had become even more pensive, and dared not spend a moment away from his side. They had been the first to retire for the night, the half-Elven woman making certain that they had their own room in the inn. She had hardly kept from clutching him fiercely to her all day, and, as weak as he was, her husband could not have stopped her had he wanted to. Not that he did, it seemed to Evelyn at least. At least they still had each other.

Imoen had kept quiet, still secluding herself alone with her own thoughts as she had ever since they had left the bandit camp behind. That solemn cast to her face had seemed so alien at first, but then Evelyn started to realize that everything since Gorion had died must have finally begun to catch up with her. She had been spared having to deal death to the constant bounty hunters and assassins that her best friend had had to live with. Evelyn thought the mercenary the other had stabbed to death must have been the first person she had actually killed. It was hard to know with all the ones Evelyn herself had had to kill. Their faces had long since blurred together in her mind.

That she had finally drawn Imoen into that dark world of hers crashed down mercilessly upon her in those moments. If she hadn't been so careless at the bandit camp and let Molkar snatch her so easily … if she had just been a little more _forceful_ in keeping her best friend away from all of this …

_I'm going to make her a monster too_ …

No. No …

Khalid had nearly died. Kivan had nearly killed himself. And so many others had already met their bloody end … because of her. Just by being _near_ her. She slumped forward against a wooden beam. She shook her head. As terrible as things were … had _been_ … she had been lucky. She couldn't be for much longer.

They had done _so_ much … and so very little. Tazok was still beyond their reach, and so was the man who had killed her father. And too much death and blood had already been spilled along their trail. Cloakwood was where she would go next, looking for half a vengeance. But she began to think it better if she went alone, for better or worse. She had a vague enough idea of where it was, remembering from maps in Candlekeep that she had hardly cared to study at the time. But she would not make the same mistake she had made in Nashkel. She would have to sneak out quickly, and quietly … and make sure _no_ one could follow her. They didn't have Kivan to track her anymore …

"My Lady?"

She hadn't even heard the door to the inn open behind her, but it didn't take her long to know just who had stepped out from within. Ajantis was still trudging around in his chain hauberk and mail, shield belted to his back, and sword at his side. She didn't know what he expected to need it all for in the inn itself, as they weren't going much of anywhere else anytime soon. But, then again, she supposed she knew the answer to that question better than anyone.

She turned around, and the young man wore that same worried frown on his face. Then she realized the more obvious reason for his still wearing his armory.

"Are you leaving?"

"No." His frown deepened, but he still held the door open. "Perhaps … perhaps it would be best if you came inside." When she frowned right back at him, he cleared his throat. "You have been out here for some time … you will catch your death of the cold if you do not find some warmth soon."

She looked down at her still-damp clothes, the chill of the rain having hardly helped in drying them any. She had ignored it up until then, lost in her own bleak thoughts … but, he was right. Nodding her head slowly after a moment, she brushed past him and into the inn.

There was no fire in the common room. If she had wanted one, she would have had to break into the kitchens in back. But she settled for the cold damp of her cloak, wrapping it tightly around her as she plopped down at one of the tables instead. After another moment, Ajantis took a place across from her.

The Jovial Juggler was hardly crowded, though the few men drowned out by the rain outside seemed intent on making up for their imprisonment by drowning themselves in ale and laughter at the bar instead. The noise had been part of the reason she had stayed outside. That, and she had hardly wanted to see Brage go at all. But with that, her grim thoughts started all anew.

After a few minutes, she looked up abruptly. "What?" she asked. She hadn't even noticed the knight speaking to her.

The man stopped, seeming to grimace and hesitate. But then he cleared his throat and started anew.

"We won a great victory," she assumed he repeated, "and for a just cause … whatever the price."

She briefly wondered how hard he had taken Bjornin's death, the elder knight having seemed to assume a mentor role toward the younger man in their brief time together. She doubted it pained him too much … she was sure knights had some code of conduct or something that_ glorified_ dying in battle. He probably thought it a wonderful thing.

He was not beaming down at her though, and his eyes were hard and focused rather than alight with pride. "But this is not over," his gaze was intent upon her, "is it?"

She looked up at him, her face lax and betraying nothing. He only lowered his voice and leaned in closer.

"My Lady, I am not blind!" he assured her fervently. "I have heard your words, and those of the others. I know that the ones responsible for the bandits were not brought to justice as they should have been."

Evelyn frowned at him, but he ignored it. Instead he was waiting for her to say something in return, it seemed to her. Eventually, she did.

"So?"

"My Lady …," he made a sound in his throat. "I would see this duty through to the end. I have pledged my service to do good and right evils, and I must prove myself by doing just that. The greater evil has _not_ been vanquished here. I would rectify that."

She arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Finally, he scowled.

"I would help you," he growled at her, catching himself only too late and forcing his tone to even. "Wherever you intend to go … I would help you bring these men to justice."

She stared at him for a moment, but his conviction seemed to hold firm. He had both hands on the small, rounded table between them, and his fists were clenched tight in earnest. There was no doubt in her mind that he meant what he said.

"No," she told him then. He had no inkling as to what he was promising … or the death that would be all that he would earn from it. She wasn't about to let another die in her wake – because she was too soft and weak to turn him aside. She wouldn't make those same mistakes.

"What?" he seemed surprised, and taken aback. "Why?"

She leaned forward into her palms, holding her head in her hands as she sighed. Why wasn't he bothering Jaheira with this? Then again, with a look up toward the ceiling above, she thought she knew why. Still, he could have waited. The older woman would have been quick to seize on any chance to use another accomplished warrior. Though, Evelyn had to admit, the other woman had hardly seemed as intent upon what would come next.

"If you doubt my valor … or my courage in the face of battle, Lady …" he had lowered his voice even more, and his jaw was clenched. But she shook her head slowly.

"Thank you, Ajantis," she said simply, "for helping us fight the bandits. And thank you … for saving my life." She looked him hard in his dark brown eyes. "But I won't have you risk yourself again for our sake. Go home. You're done here."

She would have stood, and walked away, but she was too tired to sleep just yet. Instead she kept her head in her hands and her eyes on the table, trying to ignore the man in front of her. She just wanted to be alone with her thoughts a little longer.

But the man didn't leave. He was silent for several moments more, gripping at the table fiercely. Then he spoke.

"If you question my loyalty, Lady …" he continued quietly. "I would not betray and abandon you … even if some others _would_."

She stood then.

"No," she repeated, more firmly this time as she narrowed her eyes down at him. "That is my answer. So leave me alone."

And then she turned away, and made her way upstairs. The other did not follow.

She had her things packed. It had certainly not taken long, seeing as she had had little need to scatter any of them in the room that Jaheira had given the other women in the brief time since they had returned. She hadn't bothered to change her damp clothes either. It was still raining.

Imoen was sleeping on one of the narrow beds, but Dynaheir was nowhere to be found. It was just as well, Evelyn thought as she cast one last glance around. Now was the best time to leave, she had decided. She wouldn't even be missed … not until it was too late. She closed the door quietly behind her.

There was a back way out from the inn – a dark stairway that passed down from one end of the upstairs hallway past the kitchens and out to the Beregost streets below. She did not dare face Ajantis again, or anyone else for that matter, with her pack across her back and staff in hand – her intent more than clear. No, she would not let them catch her.

She tried to tell herself that she had made the decision to leave because of all the reasons she had given herself earlier – that she would not put anyone else in danger. But the knight's words kept coming back no matter how many times she cast them angrily aside. She tried to tell herself that she wasn't leaving because of Kivan – that she wasn't leaving because she was somehow afraid of being abandoned again. It was the story of her life, she thought glumly – being abandoned and left alone. Maybe she was tired of playing the orphan.

The rain was drumming down on the top of her sodden hood before she knew it, and she was back on the slick cobblestones outside. No one had seen her.

The streets were still deserted … or at least, mostly so. A few people hurried along from one building to another, throwing up cloaks or hands in a vain effort to keep the downpour from them. They avoided the lone woman shrouded in her cloak that walked quietly through their midst though, or just ignored her. The rain didn't bother her that much.

It wasn't long before she had put the town behind her once more, however. She stopped at the western edge beneath a sprawling oak tree whose leaves shielded her briefly from the storm. She looked away north and west toward where she thought the Cloakwood must be. It was somewhere north of Candlekeep along the coast, and occupied a large area between it and Baldur's Gate even further north. She wasn't sure just how she would find what she was looking for in that vast woodland … it would take days, maybe even weeks, all by herself. She would have to stop and buy more food and water somewhere along the way unless she wanted to try her luck at foraging. She could almost wish once more that the ranger had never left, or that she could somehow steal Minsc away from his keeper. He could track the land from what she had seen.

But, no … she would do this alone. She had resolved herself to that. She wouldn't let anyone else get hurt. Whatever happened … she would find her answers – or die. She would find the others when it was over. If she still could.

She took a deep, steadying breath. She was resolved. And then she took her first step.

"Ho there, wanderer."

Evelyn started in surprise, drawing up short as she rounded upon the old man who she was sure had not been there a moment before. Or maybe she hadn't been paying enough attention, she thought quickly. But the man, dressed all in crimson robes and a pointed hat, made no move toward her. Instead he was sitting back against the oak tree atop a large stone, peering up at the sodden young woman before him. He drew back on the pipe that dangled between his lips, and puffed out a strange green smoke.

"You …" she breathed as she took him in, blinking in renewed surprise and awe. "I remember you … from the Lion's Way."

"Indeed thou doest, young one." He pulled the pipe back. "And I would wonder if thou art still determined in they ventures, or now turned to desperation or derangement."

His eyes danced with her own for a moment, but she steeled herself, straightening. She stared him down.

"Maybe all three," she spoke evenly. The other suddenly laughed – quiet, and lighthearted.

"Perhaps thou art wiser than thine age should permit." His weathered face cracked into a smile. "What is determination but the derangement of a contented mind? Or desperation of some sort or another but the driving force that must always be behind it?"

She frowned at him, sure enough that that had _not_ been what she had meant. Between the voices that had long since faded into her head, the death that had hounded and forced her hand time and time again, and … and … everything _else_ … she was sure that no small part of her was both desperate _and_ deranged. But whatever was left of who she had been before – of the innocent young creature that Gorion had raised with his kindness and love … _that_ was what made her determined now.

"I've heard nothing but tales of thy exploits in the time we have been apart," the other was saying. "It would seem that thou art destined to have quite the impact on the Sword Coast. Quite the burden for one so young."

She turned away, back towards the path before her, and the Cloakwood Forest.

"You don't know anything about my burdens."

"Perhaps," the old man acceded with a nod of his head, "perhaps not. But I have seen much in my many years." He slowly stood, stretching his ancient form. "I would agree, however, that I have not often seen the like of thee. Still, Gorion had faith in thee, and therefore I have no question as to thy competency. All that remains is to determine motive …"

He was standing beside her, his red robes brushing against her arm. He followed her gaze out toward the horizon, puffing once more at his pipe. The rain bounced off his pointed hat, and she wondered, fleetingly, how that pipe didn't go out.

"Gorion?" she breathed incredulously, turning back toward him. "You knew him?" The other only nodded, his eyes still in the distance. Evelyn shook her head. "How …? You said nothing before …"

"'Twas neither the place nor the time for such things," he told her simply. "As painful as the circumstances may have been, it was time for thee to forge thine own path." He flashed her another pleasant grin, twisting his pipe around in the damp air. "One of the most valuable lessons that life has taught me, is when _not_ to go sticking my pipe in other people's affairs."

She stood there, and just stared … all dark thought fleeing from her head in an instant as that old man stood before her and offered himself as some acquaintance of her dead father's. For a moment, all words escaped her, and she didn't know what to say. But then her lips formed the question her mind was too slow to ask.

"Who are you?"

The old man smiled down at her once more. "I suppose proper introductions _are_ in order, as we will no doubt meet again. My name is Elminster Aumar."

"Elminster …?" she breathed. As if her eyes could go any wider …

"And thou wouldst be Evelyn," the other took her gently by the shoulders, "foster child of the recently deceased sage Gorion … and prodigy of Candlekeep. It has been quite some time since I visited thou in that citadel of knowledge."

There was the faintest trace of a memory … long ago … but then it was gone, and there was only this old man in his pointed hat before her. She continued to stare up at him in awe, the storm about them forgotten, speechless once more.

"I am sorry for thy loss, little one," he told her then, frowning sadly. "Gorion was a dear friend of mine, and I supported his cause in thee."

Tears sprung to her eyes of a sudden, but she blinked them quickly away. "What cause?" she asked, confused all the more.

Lightning struck the skies overhead, and the old man briefly looked away. "I have once more wasted too much of thy time, young one. Self discovery is best left to the self, and all thy questions will be answered in time."

"W-what?"

Thunder boomed in the distance.

"Thine actions are a testament to charity and free will," the other had her firmly in his gaze once more, "whether intentional or not. But enough of my ramblings. Thou've a long journey ahead of thee, and I will not have my meanderings delay thee."

Charity and free will …? How many people had _died_ because of her? How many others _would_ die because of her? She didn't want to know.

But there would be just the one that she would make sure of if _nothing_ else …

The old man stepped away, ahead of her along the path she would take away from Beregost … away from the others. As if reading her thoughts, he rounded back upon her.

"But what of thy companions, Evelyn?" he asked her then. "Thou art perhaps too young yet to brave this storm alone."

She straightened at that, her resolve of earlier returning swiftly. "I'm leaving them behind," she told him. "I won't let anyone else get hurt because of me." She swallowed and leveled her gaze upon him. "I'll do this alone."

He studied her for several moments, rain cascading down around him and soaking his thick, red robes. She could feel those eyes boring into her soul, seeing those things she did not want anyone to see. And she faced it as best she could … but he was too much. She felt herself slowly giving way. Then he thrust his pipe toward her.

"If thou wouldst be willing to let a little blood and death keep thee from doing what must be done, then thou art doomed to fail … and thy foster father's love and death will have been in vain."

But she shook her head, willing strength once more into her voice. "No," she spoke right back at him, "I won't hurt anyone else. _I_ will do this. It is mine to do, and mine alone."

"Then thou wilst fail."

"No I won't, I'll–"

"… Fight courageously, and valiantly, in Gorion's name – of that there is no doubt. But thine enemies are greater than thee can possibly imagine, even those of flesh and blood. And thou art no match for their strength, or number … yet."

She had taken an angry step toward him, clenching her fists down at her sides. But his heavy eyes held her firm. They forced her will aside and back once more, and she felt her resolve start to drain away. And then they softened.

"Thy burdens are not thine own, child. They are those of all the Sword Coast – all of Faerûn even. Lives cannot be replaced once irrevocably lost … but the sacrifice of the few may yet save that of the many. Thy companions are a blessing, not a curse. And, used wisely, they may well lead to thy salvation … and, with it … all of Faerûn."

She felt suddenly numb … as if all feeling had fled her body. She wondered briefly if it was just the rain, and the cold. But then she shook her head. She didn't pretend to understand half of what the old man was saying, only that he was somehow warning her not to do just what she _knew_ needed to be done. For a moment, she was impossibly angry – angry that he would demand of her so heartless a sacrifice as using others, whatever the goal. But then that anger suddenly imploded, and she felt her will collapse.

_If only he hadn't left_ …

She wasn't sure who she meant.

"What should I do?" came her voice, weak … and fragile. He could have crushed it there if he had wanted. But he just stood there.

"It is not my place to decide for thee, little one," he said at the last. "I offer only counsel … and direction. But I will not interfere. The choice, as it has always been, is thine own."

She felt her resolve suddenly crack, bursting into a thousand pieces as those eyes bored into her own. She felt so small and insignificant then. She wondered if it was her own fault – building up another wall of false strength and determined will only to have it shatter at the faintest touch … or his.

Her legs collapsed beneath her.

"Fare thee well, Evelyn," was all the other said, the words drifting down to meet her ears over the dull roar of the storm. "We will meet again."

And then he was gone … and Evelyn was left alone there beneath the oak, kneeling into the muddy cobbles.

The wind suddenly howled … and she thought she heard a voice. But the old man had vanished. She was alone.

And maybe, just maybe … she had always been.

Thunder roared above.


	32. Chapter 4 Blood Sworn

_**Blood Sworn**_

"Who was that?"

Evelyn looked up in surprise from where she still knelt against the ground … only to find Imoen standing beside her. Her best friend was peering away after the faded form of Elminster.

The storm still raged about, though it had abated some, and dusk had already begun to deepen the afternoon gloom. But even in the gloom she could see the other woman wrapped tightly in her own cloak, the bulge of her pack pushing out beneath it.

"Imoen?" she breathed softly, disbelieving. "Imoen, what are you doing?"

Her best friend looked down at her. "I'm going with you," was all she said, her voice full of blind conviction and firm resolve both. But Evelyn only shook her head.

Imoen stuck a hand out and helped her back to her feet. She stood there frowning at the other woman, as she took in her drenched clothes and soaked, pale skin. Eve was sure she looked like a mess, but she had given it little thought before. Now she could feel the cold, and started to shiver.

"I dunno what you think you're gonna do, Eve," the other woman said, turning her head slowly from side to side, "but you aren't doing it without _me_. I'm with you, and I always will be, until the end … and maybe just a little bit longer."

Evelyn stared at that woman before her, barely more than a girl and yet as old as she – that wonderful person who was her one true friend, her _only_ friend – and desperately wished that she had the strength and courage to save her, to summon her resolve of earlier if only just long enough to turn her away … but she couldn't. As if Elminster's words had not been enough … she felt fresh tears spring to her eyes and drown them out. The world swam before her … and she only just kept that glimpse of faded pink firmly in her sight.

She had her arms wrapped tightly around the other woman in the next instant, taking her serious-faced conviction by surprise. She squeezed as hard as she could, burying her face in the other's shoulder and crying freely. It did not take long for Imoen to hug her back just as fiercely. And with that … a little of those deep-rooted pains began to fade away … just a little …

After a little while, she finally pulled away from her best friend, and recomposed herself, swiping at her eyes with the back of a hand. Little good it did though, as soaked as they were. She could see tears in the other woman's eyes too.

"You're not going … are you, Eve?" she demanded softly, sounding shaken and hurt. Evelyn knew then that she had probably felt that way all along, but she had done a better job of hiding it than even her best friend could have thought. She slowly shook her head.

"No," she told her quickly, nearly biting the word at the bitter thought that she ever would have. "Not without you. I won't ever leave you behind … I promise."

Imoen smiled, briefly. And then she frowned, looking back toward Beregost. "What about Jaheira … and Khalid, and everyone else?" She had been ready to follow her best friend alone, if need be. But Evelyn only shook her head once more.

"They're coming too," she said simply. _If they still want to …_ "They deserve vengeance as much as we do." At least Jaheira and Khalid certainly did. But she was sure the others would follow. Of a certain knight … she was sure that he would.

She was shivering terribly, and so was her best friend. It was freezing out there in the cold rain, and she had not changed into dry clothes yet. That it was her fault Imoen that had been dragged out there at all …

She glanced once more toward where the old man had vanished … along into the distance toward Cloakwood. And then she turned back. She suddenly felt very angry … at the man who had killed her father, at Kivan … at herself … Her fists clenched down at her sides, but she didn't let the other see it. She smoothed her face, and then smiled at her best friend.

"Come on, Imoen," she forced as much levity into her voice as she could, "let's go find someplace warm and dry." And it worked. The other woman beamed brightly back at her, seeming more her old self just then than she had in a long while. It was enough to give Evelyn hope.

Elminster had been right. She would need all of their help to find and bring Tazok and his murderous minion to justice. She would have to use them … use them all … And, as much as she wished she still had Kivan there to help her – he had betrayed them. He had betrayed _her_. And, even worse than that, he had betrayed himself. She wouldn't do the same.

Imoen moved quickly ahead of her, more than eager to return to the inn and warm back up. Evelyn felt a moment's more regret at not being able to keep her best friend from all of that, filling her innocent world with blood and death as well. But she could still promise herself that it would all be over … just so soon as they avenged Gorion. Until then, she would do what she must.

Jaheira had taught her that. Kivan had taught her that. But, most of all, Gorion had taught her that … in dying he had taught her the most of all. Too bad she was such a slow learner. Still, it didn't matter. Nothing was going to stop her.

And when Imoen glanced back over her shoulder, Evelyn was still there. She smiled right back.

* * *

"Here."

Evelyn glanced over toward where the Elf had stabbed his long finger down into the unfurled old parchment – a large map depicting everything along the Sword Coast as far north as Waterdeep and south as Amn. The innkeeper, Bernard Strom, had retrieved it for her from somewhere in back. In her experience, at least with Winthrop, every innkeeper kept at least_ one_ old map hidden somewhere away.

She tried not to feel too chagrined when she realized that the Cloakwood was a lot farther north than she had thought. If she had left on her own as she had intended, she would have almost certainly gotten lost trying to find it.

"More than sixty leagues of untracked woodland I should say," Xan was lamenting aloud to himself. "How we could ever expect to find _anyone_ in all of that … Are you sure about this?"

Those eyes found hers for a moment. She nodded her head. Xan only shook his.

"Our lives are short enough without wasting what remains on some foolish …"

She didn't bother to catch the rest.

"And we will find those responsible for the bandits somewhere in there?"

Ajantis was studying the map with an intent look, lines crawling up along the sides of his face. Evelyn nodded once more.

"Yes."

The young knight canted his head smartly. "Then we had best get to it. There is no sense in wasting time."

Xan muttered something loudly about just what he thought of wasting time from across the table between them, and the knight gave him a hard look. He met Evelyn's unreadable one next, and then turned away. The Elf kept slowly shaking his head.

"This place will be dangerous." Jaheira's hard eyes flashed upward to Evelyn's own. "I know a little of the Wood."

Evelyn waited for her to say more, sure of the doubts that were swimming around her head just then. At length, she grimaced, but nodded. "Very well." Eve just caught glimpse of her slipping her hand into her husband's beneath the table. "We will see this through to the end. For Gorion."

Imoen gave her a reassuring smile when her best friend glanced over at her. Evelyn didn't need to ask to know that the other woman would follow. Instead she looked to the Rashemi.

Dynaheir had said little, though her eyes had moved much. They never strayed far from the raven-haired woman, though, and they were waiting for her when she came to them. The witch's lips twitched upward into a small, secretive smile.

The red-robed wizard stood some paces away, his own dark eyes hardly ever leaving the Rashemi. If it hadn't been for the towering Minsc always beside her, Evelyn was sure they would have found the woman's charred corpse somewhere by now. She could see the subtle trace of bloodlust in his eyes. She didn't bother to ask any of them if they would follow.

"Then that's settled," Evelyn finally said, breaking the quiet of the back room of the inn in which they stood. She bobbed her head slowly, and then quickly rolled the old map back up.

"For Gorion," she breathed, turning away.

… _For me_.

* * *

"You look pensive."

Evelyn started, though she kept from jumping in surprise. It was dark, and she wondered how the other had even managed to _see_ how she looked, coming up with her head turned the other way as it had been. But, she supposed, she had worn that mask all day.

They had taken the route north along the Coast Way toward the Friendly Arm Inn, only starting to diverge from the roads across country when the Cloakwood began to loom in the distance. It would not take them long to reach it. To find just what they were looking for, however … She could only _hope_ that it did not take too long. She wasn't afraid of being deserted … No, she was afraid of being dragged away bodily from her task. Tazok or some clue about his whereabouts and that of the other were somewhere in that wood. And she would find them.

"What is it, Xan?"

The Elf slowed as he came up beside her, standing over where she had seated herself back against a tree. She had been thinking – and maybe hoping just a little too – and it reminded her of that one night more than a week past when the mage had come to her then so like he did now. She could almost turn him aside all the faster and hurry him on his way, somehow hoping that Kivan would happen out of the brush soon after. But she liked to think she was a little more sensible than that.

She looked up at him, and waited. After a moment, he looked away toward the plains they had left behind, stretching on into the night. The road was somewhere back there. The ranger was probably somewhere back there too. Finally, he spoke.

"Of course, it is only natural for our current situation," he continued without looking at her. "It cannot be too long before we submit to overwhelming and violent numbers of foes, given this present course. It was a vain hope to think one might learn from the trials of their all too recent past, and seek to avoid such troubles in the future. Such is the curse of youth I suppose."

She shook her head. "If you think I have any other choice, Xan … then you're wrong."

"Perhaps," he acceded with a slight nod of his head, still gazing off into the distance. "Perhaps not. But your resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me, even so. Quite an accomplishment for one so young."

She only shook her head again, and winced.

"Tell me, Evelyn," he did face her then, "how do you deal with the feeling that you could, and _will_, _die_ at any moment?" He arched one eyebrow at her. "Does it … _thrill_ or frighten you?"

She frowned up at him, taken aback. "How do you _think_ it makes me feel?" she said at the last. And he turned away once more.

"I only ask," he continued, droning on wearily, "because you seem content to pledge yourself to an _endless_ chain of battles … despite, or rather I should say in _spite _of, better sense. It can break anyone, given enough time." He shook his head quickly. "This unceasing chase will claim you before you realize it. You cannot yet imagine the _years_ upon _years_ of facing deadly perils … of narrowly escaping death at _every_ turn!"

He almost seemed to grow angry for a moment, his voice exasperated and full of frustration. But it was gone too quickly for her to know for sure, and then those sad dark eyes were wandering toward her once more.

"Eventually …," he began again quietly. "_Eventually_ you will be forced either to become a merciless instrument of death … or else lose the will to live. It is a terrible fate to see in one so young …"

"Well maybe you should stop looking then."

He had rested his gaze elsewhere for a moment, but it immediately fixed back upon her. And then he laughed. The sound almost made her angrier, but it was hollow. She hardly needed another lecture just then.

"You try to jest over this," he uttered quietly. "You are such a child."

She stood.

"You can _leave_, Xan!" she spat at him. "You can leave! I never asked you to come along with me. I never _asked _for your help! So don't try and make me feel like what I'm doing is wrong! You don't know what they've done – what they've taken from me! And I will make them _bleed_ for it …"

"Yes," he nodded soberly, "things will be perfect when we are lying in our graves. Death brings _every_thing into balance."

She stared at him for a moment, fuming. But he did not lash back. Instead he only stood there, infinitely weary, and impossibly grave. She thrust a finger in front of his face, still feeling her blood seethe … but no words came. She snapped her jaw shut, and turned away.

"Why are you even here, Xan?" she demanded futilely. "You obviously don't want to be. Why don't you just _leave_?"

"Leave?" he voiced again after a moment. "If only I could. But I am bound to my duty _here_."

"What?" She rounded back upon him. "If you mean to _me_," she shook her head quickly, "you have _more_ than returned any favor I might have done you. You saved my life long ago."

"Did I? Have I yet?" He smiled sadly at her. "No, you misunderstand the duty of which I speak. Had this endeavor ended and yielded more fruitful answers with the destruction of the bandits' camp … perhaps I would not be standing here now."

"What do you mean?" She furrowed her brow in confusion at him. "What does _any_ of this have to do with you?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps nothing, nothing at all. Perhaps everything." He looked away again. "No like duty binds you as it does me. But I can see that I will not convince you of the folly of this tonight." And then he moved past her.

"Goodnight, Evelyn." He paused for a moment, turning briefly back. "Or perhaps I should say 'Good luck'. But a painless death in our sleep is something we could only hope for, if indeed we could choose. The reality is likely to drown us in sweat and blood all too soon, and in a much more gruesome manner. Think on this. Please."

And then he was gone … leaving an angry and none too settled young woman in his wake. For her part, Evelyn tried to ignore it, and turned back to her thinking. She let herself collapse back down against the tree, crossing her arms over her chest. He had said that he had failed that night. She could only hope that he would not dare try again. It was a vain hope.

_As if I _need_ someone else to tell me just how dangerous all of this is_. She was hardly so foolish or naïve as _that_ anymore. And for him to call her a _child_ of all things … well, she could certainly show _him_ just how much of a child she was when she had his face buried in the dirt just like she had shown Ajan–

"My Lady?"

Her head whipped back around, fresh venom burning on her lips before she realized that it was not Xan somehow returning to finish what he had so foolishly started. When she saw who it was, however, she only let her anger dull to a slow boil.

"What do _you_ want?"

Ajantis stiffened where he stood, taken aback for a moment. It took him another full moment before he could recompose himself. He cleared his throat. "I … heard you raise your voice, and not in a kindly manner."

She frowned at him, and he gave her an awkward look in return, as if he was wondering too just how she could 'raise her voice' in a _kind_ manner. She briefly wondered if anyone _else_ was going to come bother her too. A brief glance toward the low-burning fire a ways ahead past the knight's shoulder gave her only a little reassurance.

"Forgive me," the other said quickly then, "for the intrusion, my Lady. I passed the Elven wizard in coming to find you here, and could discern little from his bearing. Has he harmed or threatened you in some way?"

The question took her by surprise, and she only stared at him blankly. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again quickly, and then, finally, sighed.

"No," was all she told him. She tried not to bite the word too hard.

She supposed that the knight didn't know Xan at all well enough to think it somewhat ridiculous. But, she guessed that she didn't know him too well either. Still, she would not have let him give her any trouble.

She looked away, satisfied that _that_ was over with. But when the knight didn't leave … indeed, when he knelt down _next_ to her instead … she squeezed her arms all the tighter across her chest, and gave him a wide-eyed, icy glare. He wasn't looking at her though.

"My Lady …," he began, and then raised his eyes from the ground to meet hers. He flinched in surprise, nearly loosing his balance and tumbling over backward. But he caught himself quickly, and hurried on. "My Lady, I simply wished to ask you a question … if you will permit me."

She continued staring him down for several more moments, though he eventually steeled himself under her harsh gaze. He stiffened a little, as if expecting another blow … and, for a moment, she wondered if it might not make her _feel_ a little better to oblige him. But it passed.

Eventually, she twisted her head back away, growling deep in her throat. He seemed to take it for a 'yes'.

"My Lady, when I offered you my aid before," he began tentatively, "you rejected it rather soundly." He struggled with his thoughts for a few moments, his mouth moving slowly, and then he fixed her firmly with his eye once more. "Why did you change your mind, my Lady?"

"Evelyn," she told him.

"My Lady?"

"My name is Evelyn." She wondered, briefly, if he had even known it before then.

He nodded. "Very well, then, my Lady Evelyn. But why did you change your mind?"

She made another frustrated sound in her throat. And then she looked him straight in the eye.

"You will be useful."

_There. I said it_.

And she was still too irritated to feel _too _bad about it.

But the man didn't give her some upset look … or even seem to be much discouraged by it at all. In fact, he almost seemed to regain some of his pride … And then he broke his limit of one question.

"What do you know of my god, Helm, my Lady?"

It took her so off guard that she forgot to tell him to leave. Instead she only shook her head, frowning in confusion. What did _that_ have to do with anything?

"I … I know," she stammered, wildly puzzled and blinking at him, "during the Time of Troubles … he did something terrible." She had been far too young, but Gorion had told her … of how he had destroyed Mystra, the goddess of Magic and guardian of the Weave. It had been a trying time for her father, she remembered him telling her, as well as many others. It was the first thing that had popped into her head. But Ajantis was immediately shaking his.

"But he didn't!" he told her quickly. "He only did his duty, my Lady Evelyn." He stuck out one hand and took her shoulder. For her part, Eve only stared at it. "Helm," the other continued, "the Vigilant One, is the god of duty, vigilance, and protection. He is the eternal sentry, the ever watchful, the protector never distracted from his duty."

His eyes seemed to light up as he said it, and he stopped looking at her for a moment. But then his gaze was fixed firmly back.

"I live by His rules, my Lady," he told her earnestly. And then he was looking elsewhere again, she almost forgotten. "Never betray those who trust you. Be vigilant. Be fair and diligent in the conduct of your orders. Protect the weak, poor, injured, and young – do not sacrifice them for others or for yourself. Always obey orders, providing that those orders follow the rules of Helm. Demonstrate excellence and loyalty in your role as a guardian and protector."

He took a deep breath, and then he returned to her.

"This is a just and honorable cause we have undertaken, my Lady Evelyn," he said. "And I am _honored_ to be allowed to aid you in it. As my patron Helm demands of all his followers, I will be dutiful, vigilant, and righteous in its execution. I will give up my last breath, if need be, to see it done." He removed the sword he still kept belted at his waist, and stabbed it deep into the ground. "And I will see you live through this, my Lady Evelyn, if it is the last thing I do. _That_, I will swear as my oath of service."

At the last he dropped his head down reverently, kneeling over his sword now sheathed in the earth. For a moment, she hardly knew what to say. For a moment … she desperately wished she had found somewhere more hidden to seclude herself that night.

Ajantis remained there, unmoving, in what she was sure must have been an uncomfortable position. At first, she wasn't really sure just what he seemed to want her to do. Any stories she remembered hearing about knights when she was little in Candlekeep spoke more of how they always did battle with fearsome trolls and ogres and dragons, scorning fear to rescue innocent villages and beautiful noble ladies. She scarcely wanted or needed rescuing, and she hardly felt innocent or beautiful sitting there in her travel-stained clothes, the blood of everyone she had killed almost still visible on her hands. But Ajantis just sat there, frozen, and waiting.

Eventually, she sighed, and reached out with one tentative hand to touch him gently on the head. She thought she remembered those noble ladies doing _something_ like that … The other looked up at her.

"Alright," she said quietly. She wasn't really sure what else _to_ say. But he seemed to take it as enough.

He stood.

"Thank you, my Lady. I will not fail you!" He returned his sword to its sheath, and then he pounded one fist to his heart. "Goodnight, my Lady Evelyn," he said then. "Rest easy knowing a disciple of the Ever Vigilant One watches over you." He bowed briefly, turned smartly on one heel, and left. Evelyn let her head fall down into her hands.

Whatever he said, Evelyn didn't think she would _ever_ sleep easier knowing someone was watching her. _Especially_ someone who was 'ever vigilant'. But it was not _so_ bad, she supposed. At least he would not betray or abandon her like … like …

… She had forgotten just why she had come out there to be alone in the first place. And with that … all her dark thoughts began anew. She wondered if they would ever go away.

She only hugged herself tighter, and stared off again into the night.

_Kivan … where are you?_


	33. Chapter 4 Shadows of the Wood

_**Shadows of the Wood**_

"High Guard!"

Evelyn brought the curved blade sweeping up from her middle to just ahead and above her eyes, catching the other's easily and warding it away. His steel retracted, hovered a moment, and then came instantly about for her side. She swung her own sword down in an arc to meet it just ahead of having her stomach sliced open.

The other paused once more … and then he was whirling about, coming at her again from the other direction. She wasn't ready for it. The sword was too slow, and his was coming all too fast. She leapt backward only just ahead of it, though the blow stopped well short of its mark. Another soon followed in its wake.

He kept coming, spinning wildly and fluidly, that curved sword like a ring of steel that kept threatening to cut her in half. She turned it aside a few times, but all too few at that. Instead she kept jumping back and out of the way, desperate to keep it from her. Eventually, he stopped.

It was so abrupt that she almost thought it a trick, but then Khalid was lowering his sword.

"R-riposte, Evelyn, you m-must riposte!" he told her as firmly as he could, shaking his head. "P-parry all you l-like, but if you d-do not follow it th-through, you will n-never turn me b-b-back."

"Alright …," she half-growled, still trying to think of just how she would do everything _else_ he had told her to do. She only felt just a little sorry for it.

She had asked the half-Elven man to instruct her a little more in using a blade – to pick up where Kivan had left off – but his scimitars were different than the practice blades they had used before. Not to mention they were incredibly sharp, as well kept as Khalid had them, and they had to be extremely careful. That, along with the slightly different stance, the way she was supposed to hold it, and how it moved, all proved to be just a little too much to think about with another of the razor-sharp things swinging at her head every few moments. Still, she wasn't about to let it stop her.

Elminster had warned her that the ones she was hunting and were hunting her were far stronger than she. Perhaps he was right, though she wondered just how he could know. But, no matter his advice to let the others help her, she was hardly about to let them take her revenge for her too. Tazok mattered little to her, but the armored man … he was for her, and her alone. And she would learn _everything_ she could to make sure of that.

The Cloakwood sprawled around them – really no different than any other forest she could have imagined. Jaheira had warned that it was dangerous, but she could only see the same old oaks and maples, pines and firs, ashes and birches, that she had ever seen before. The animals were the same, and it seemed no different than the Wood of Sharp Teeth they had trekked through not so long ago. If anything, that there were hardly likely to be any bandits crawling around as well made it all the more peaceful. But, she supposed, they had hardly gone very deep into the wood yet.

Khalid was leveling his blade with her once more. "N-now," he began, "a-attack _me_." He dropped back down into a crouch.

Evelyn held the scimitar out in front of her, angling across her body and slightly dipped toward him as he had shown her, and then she dropped down as well. It really wasn't so different from what Jondalar had taught her – the essentials of it anyways. She tried to relax, and let it all come on instinct. Thinking too much seemed to ruin it.

He was waiting for her, still and unmoving. She might have been more afraid if that poise had been as deadly and threatening as it always seemed to be just before he cut something down. But he was just waiting, and she tried not to think about anything else.

She came at him high, following his lead, but feinted and then swept in low just after he had begun to move to parry her. He was too fast though, and practiced, and turned her quickly back. She came at him again, and again … and he just kept pushing her back.

She wasn't quite sure when her attack became a frantic defense, but his scimitar began cutting in faster and faster, slicing away towards hers and howling through the air. She forgot to riposte. She forgot to parry. And then his blade was sweeping toward her middle once more.

The sword tumbled free from her hand without a thought, and then she was ducking low beneath his blow. She didn't even notice when it stopped short. Instead she came spinning around and up along the other side of the frozen steel, snatching at his arm to hold it in place while her boot arced high as she leapt into the air. Without thinking she slammed it swiftly down across his face with a howl. His grip went slack. As he fell, his blade came away in her hand.

Someone laughed. Evelyn rounded instantly back upon the fallen half-Elf, now holding himself up at the knee, and glanced at the blade in her hand. She tossed it hastily back at his feet.

"Sorry …"

The other looked up at her, and the laughing continued even harder. It was Imoen. Evelyn gave her best friend a fierce scowl and then moved over to help Khalid back to his feet. The half-Elven man only gave her a hard look before retrieving his swords.

"I th-thought you wanted to l-learn the blade." He hesitated with them in hand for a moment as if wondering whether or not he should give hers back to her. She shook her head.

"Sorry," was all she could think to say. She had forgotten that he could not have possibly hurt her, as careful as he must have been being. But she had been all too quick to let instinct and Jondalar's lessons take over. She hoped she hadn't hurt him _too_ much.

The other turned aside and spit into the grass. Evelyn saw with a sinking frown that it was blood.

"Sorry …"

The others were all somewhere nearby; they had stopped to take a break after marching most of the morning. The forest was thick and untamed by any heavily trodden paths, however, and it had been slow going. And they still hardly knew just what they were looking for. Somehow Evelyn had hoped some trace of a half-Ogre wouldn't be too hard to find. Some very large footprints at _least_ …

But they had found nothing yet, though they had hardly begun. Jaheira had left some time earlier, intent upon doing just that. She had taken the massive Rashemi with her to track.

Ajantis and Imoen were the only two that had taken any interest in their sparring, but Evelyn was glad she hadn't embarrassed herself too much. Aside from that last bit she had held her own fairly well, given what Kivan had already taught her. Still, their sessions had been secluded and private before, and she hardly cared to make a fool out of herself. She couldn't let herself seem weak.

It was hard to tell if Xan had paid them much attention, but she was sure that the Rashemi witch certainly had. The woman hardly seemed to look anywhere else whenever Evelyn caught sight of her. But even _she_ couldn't ignore the red-robed wizard who watched her so intently now that her guardian was gone, though she tried to admirably. Sitting there atop a large stone with her back perfectly straight and her eyes level, it was almost believable. But Evelyn could see the man only a little distance behind her, quiet though never letting his gaze wander for even a moment. They had both spoken little since leaving the bandit camp, and she liked to think it was because they were both too afraid of just what the other might hear, and then think of it. But she couldn't help the feeling that they were both _waiting _for something, though. And she hardly dared to think what.

Eventually Khalid seemed to decide that that was enough for the time being, and she opened her mouth to apologize once more. But he spoke first.

"P-perhaps we will continue this l-later," he told her apprehensively. He looked away just as the familiar sight of his wife and the towering Minsc came into view further on into the forest. When they drew near, the half-Elven woman came up short, and frowned at her husband.

"If I had thought you well enough to accompany us," she chided, "I would have thought you well enough to play at your blades." She folded her arms across her chest imperiously and pursed her lips.

Khalid looked away briefly, and Evelyn caught the roll of his eyes. But then he turned back toward her with a nod.

"Y-yes, dear."

The half-Elven man had been more than eager to accompany his wife when she offered to scout and track the wood ahead for any signs of recent trafficking, but the woman had been adamant about him taking his rest. She did not spare Evelyn that frown as she stepped up beside them.

"I hope you are not planning to forego your staff for a blade, Evelyn," was all she said, though. "You can ask _him_ just who has won each and every match ever fought between us." Again the roll of the eyes. Jaheira only tapped the oaken staff strapped across her back with a finger, beaming proudly. Khalid shook his head at Evelyn from behind her.

Minsc moved over quickly to rejoin Dynaheir, and the witch spoke quietly to him. Even with his booming voice Evelyn couldn't hear what he said in return, but he did not spare Edwin any few dark looks. Evelyn rounded on the druid.

"What did you find?"

The other woman arched an eyebrow at her, and then swept her steely gaze across each of the others for a brief moment. Then she turned back.

"No trace of our elusive prey, I am afraid," she told her. "But there _is_ a trail some distance ahead. The Rashemi believes that it has been used recently."

Evelyn glanced once more toward Minsc, but he was still speaking quietly with Dynaheir. Edwin had begun to drift closer.

"And I believe we may find friends amidst the wood who might offer us better guidance," the other woman continued after a moment, following Evelyn's gaze at it eventually settled on the wizard. She lowered her voice. "They would certainly know more of any unusual visitors."

Evelyn wasn't quite sure just what to make of that. But then the others were gathering closer, and she knew well enough what a trail might mean. She canted her head.

"Show me."

* * *

"My Lady Evelyn."

She glanced back over her shoulder just as the knight came up beside her, hurrying ahead to match her brisk stride. They had found the trail that Jaheira had spoken of, though it had not been used so recently as to cause them worry. Or so the other woman had believed. To Evelyn it only meant that they were that much further behind their quarry.

Ajantis fell into the rhythm of her step, and she looked up at him. "What is it?" She tried to keep her tone civil.

The man's eyes darted quickly away and fixed upon the path ahead. "I could not help but notice your sudden interest in swordplay."

He frowned abruptly, his face contorting. But he did not look at her.

"And?" she prompted, giving him a doubtful eye. She would hardly have considered it sudden, or an interest. It was just necessary. But how could he know that?

"And …," he seemed to struggle with just what he would say next. But then he let the words come spilling out. "I would be more than obliged to instruct you a little as well if you wished. I … I am not so distanced from my own training sessions as your companion undoubtedly is. Perhaps that familiarity will prove more to your benefit."

She studied him for a moment, thinking, but he kept his eyes on the path ahead. He seemed to be scanning it and the forest about for any signs of danger. Perhaps he was right though, she thought. His sword was closer to what Kivan had been teaching her, and it would certainly be easier to continue with him. If nothing else, practicing with him and Khalid both certainly couldn't hurt.

She opened her mouth to answer him, but stopped. She stopped dead in her tracks. There, ahead further along the path, was a small cabin.

Jaheira was the first to reach her then, coming up quickly at her side.

"It is unlikely that our enemies would be so careless." She gave her husband a quick glance as he paused at her flank. The scimitars were swiftly in hand. "They have proved cleverer than they seemed at every turn." The oaken staff was before her just as quickly.

The path stretched on before them until it opened up into the clearing that housed the large cabin – a broad, squat building of bolted wood planking. The roof was strangely shingled though, and it seemed as if _someone_ had taken some care to make it hospitable and weatherproof. Whoever had owned it must have spent the past few drenched days in more peace than they had.

"I will go first," Ajantis declared resolutely. Without waiting for any word from anyone else, he started forward.

"No! Wait!" Evelyn stayed him swiftly with a hand. She cast about quickly toward the others. Where was Kivan when she needed him? Never mind. They could make do without him.

"Minsc." The giant of a man perked instantly at her voice. Those dark eyes fixed down on her. "I want you to circle around behind and see what you can find. Can you do that, please?" He had some knowledge of tracking the earth she knew at least. She hoped he could be quiet. If nothing else, he would not be easily or quietly taken down. She hoped.

The Rashemi glanced back toward the woman at his side. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. And then he returned to her.

"Minsc and Boo stand ready." He looked down toward something in his massive hands. "Right, Boo?" And then he slipped that thing back into a pouch at his waist, trading it for the blade across his back, and moved off and away into the trees. Dynaheir was watching her.

"Khalid," Jaheira said simply a moment later, even as Evelyn still stood there fretting over whether sending Minsc alone was any better than Ajantis. The half-Elven man hardly needed anything more. Instead he leapt aside in the opposite direction as the Rashemi, hurrying off into the wood. Jaheira only raised a brow at the younger woman.

They waited. Ajantis was all but bouncing where he stood, hand on hilt. Imoen strode up beside her. Jaheira folded her arms across her chest. But the forest kept quiet. When she was sure that they must have reached the back of the cabin, Evelyn abruptly started forward.

It was sunny out, and the early afternoon heat was pleasant even as light spilled down around them inside the small clearing. Thousands of leaves rustled as the wind began to pick up in the branches above. There was no one else there to be seen.

She slowed as she neared the cabin. There was a plume of smoke drifting up from a hole to one side of the roof, and it was too warm for a fire. Someone must have been cooking. She stopped.

At length, Khalid and Minsc both returned, swinging wide around either side of the cabin. Minsc took his place by Dynaheir's side once more without a word. When Jaheira looked to her husband, he shook his head.

"Someone's in there," Imoen echoed her thoughts quietly to one side. Then she turned to her best friend. "Do you think it's …?"

"There's only one way to find out …" Evelyn murmured back. She took a step forward.

"I agree!"

Before the raven-haired woman could say anything, Edwin had thrown up both hands and begun chanting loudly. A ball of fire leapt into his hands.

"Wait! No!"

Xan suddenly snatched at the red-robed wizard, slamming his arms upward and forcing them high. The flaming sphere hurtled upward into the air, screaming toward the sun. It exploded far above the cabin.

"Fool of a Red Wizard!" Dynaheir was howling at him then, taking an angry step forward. Minsc still had his blade in hand at her side. The other shouted right back.

"If their enemies are inside, _witch_, then why not burn it down around them? I tire of wasting time! And there are other, more _important_, matters to deal with …" He lifted his hands once more as if in warning, and the other's eyes went wide.

But Evelyn was rounding on them instantly. "Stop it!" Dynaheir had readied her own hands as well. "NOW!" They both twisted their eyes toward her, but neither lowered their guard for a moment. She felt her patience slip.

"If you harm this woman, wizard," Ajantis warned dangerously, his voice low, "then I promise that some piece of you will not leave this place with the rest."

Edwin sneered at the knight, opening his mouth to respond, but Evelyn stabbed a finger to his face before he could.

"Stop it!" she ordered firmly once more. "You will listen to me and do as _I_ say. Or else you will leave." She let her admonishing finger take in the witch as well. "Do you understand?"

Dynaheir straightened, but nodded her head easily enough. Edwin glanced around quickly, studying the others each in turn. And then he snapped his mouth shut. He gave the Rashemi one last baleful glare before stepping away, muttering loudly to himself. She didn't bother to catch whatever it was that he said.

"We don't have time for this," Jaheira uttered at her side. Evelyn only nodded.

"Hello?"

She took a step forward, calling as loudly and trying to sound as unthreatening as she could. She hoped that, if whoever inside was friendly, they had not seen the cinders raining down over them. Thank the gods the roof was shingled.

There was silence for a time. She couldn't be sure if it had been so inside moments before when everyone had been shouting. She doubted that whoever was in there had not heard them.

She opened her mouth once more to call out, but then the door opened abruptly just a crack. A length of steel started waving out at them.

"You'll not have us, savages!" a man yelled out from inside, that sword still waving. "Come and take us if you dare, but we will not go down without a fight!"

Evelyn frowned, and then glanced back toward Jaheira. The other woman only raised her brow. Imoen shrugged beside her.

"We're not …!" she started to call back, but stopped. _Savages?_ "Who are you?" she asked instead. The blade only rattled harder.

"Whoever you are, get away from here!" the man inside shouted back. "We do not need any more miscreants causing trouble!"

The steel withdrew suddenly and the door slammed shut.

"We should have burned it," Edwin chided loudly behind.

Ajantis growled back at the wizard. But Evelyn took another step forward.

"Please … we're not here to hurt you!"

She waited then. The inside of the cabin was silent for a time, even though she thought she heard some frantic moving about. She started wondering just what whoever it was inside was so afraid of, and why they thought _they_ had anything to do with it. She tried as hard as she could to make the ashwood seem more a walking stick instead of a weapon. Still, it was not as if they could really _see_ her. The cabin didn't seem to have any windows.

She was just about to turn away … when the door abruptly flung open. Three men came barreling out, each sheathed in stout leathers with swords in hand. They made a small perimeter just around the door, each facing a different direction. One of them had lather smeared across half his face, a blade seemingly having swept the other half clean. Another's close-cropped hair was dripping wet. Whatever they had been doing when their present company had arrived, Evelyn somewhat doubted it had anything to do with banditry. Still, she couldn't be sure.

For a moment, it seemed as if they intended to attack … or something of the like, but then they caught sight of nine others gathered just before the cabin. They seemed to think less of their odds just then.

"What do you want?" the leader of the three ventured after a few anxious moments, and Evelyn recognized that same voice from before. "I warn you … we will _not_ surrender." And then he took them in once more, hesitating. "Easily." He canted his head at the last.

"We're not here to hurt you," Evelyn repeated quickly. The man blinked at her in surprise, and then swept his gaze across them once more. After another moment, he lowered his sword.

"Oh." He slipped the blade back into its sheath at his waist. "I apologize for my rudeness, I mistook you for someone else. Veren, Garret!"

He raised a hand to the other two men, and they lowered their weapons as well. Then he turned back toward the others.

"Tell me, my friends," he began cordially anew, "what purpose have you wandering this far into Cloakwood? Are you looking to earn some money?" he offered suddenly. "If you are I would be willing to pay a considerable amount for some assistance."

"We're looking for someone," Evelyn answered him. The man had looked past her, seeming to settle his attentions on Minsc, the largest of their band. He turned back without bothering to disguise the leering twist to his face.

"I am afraid the only souls haunting these woods are our own," he told her with a slow shake of his head, "that I know of. And the savages of course. Though I would hardly consider them human enough for souls, and certainly not the sort of men you would wish to consort with, my dear."

He looked past her toward the others behind, now settling for Ajantis at her back. "Allow me to introduce myself," he began anew. "I am Aldeth Sashenstar." He made a slight bow, the trim gold lacquering upon his leathers making it seem all the more graceful. He even flourished his stout green cloak a bit. "You must understand that at the moment I'm under a terrible amount of stress," he seemed genuinely regretful to them at that. "You see my dear fellows, there is a group of uncouth savages that has declared their intention of killing my friends and I. I've been holed up in this cabin for several days, and have lacked the wherewithal to try and make an escape."

"Savages," Evelyn heard Jaheira murmur from behind. She looked at the other woman, but she said nothing more.

"Perhaps you kind sirs would help a fellow in trouble?" The man – Aldeth – stepped past her. "You see, my friends and I come here every year to do some sport hunting. This year however, a group of woodland savages threatened us with bodily harm if we did not stop our hunting trip." He shrugged. "Being civilized men we realized that it's well within our rights to hunt where we damn well please." He shook his head. "After a few more days of hunting, however, the crass woodmen lost all pretense of humanity and murdered Elban, one of my oldest friends. I'm sure that they are planning to attack our cottage here, and Veren, Garret, and I have been holed up waiting ever since."

"And you would have us protect you from these … savages?" the knight asked. Jaheira shook her head quickly and whispered something to her husband. She gave the man, Aldeth, an icy glare.

"You speak of my brethren, Master Sashenstar," the half-Elven woman warned softly. "And they are _not_ mere mindless savages. They would not attack unless provoked first."

The man narrowed his eyes at her. "They took Elban in cold blood, my dear. Do not tell me that they are any better than the animals they play to shepherd themselves. My eyes do not deceive me."

"You lie." The druid shook her head.

"We're looking for someone," Evelyn broke in impatiently. "A half-Ogre and a man in black armor. They would be hard to miss."

But the man wasn't paying attention to her. Instead he was trading silent blows with Jaheira's eyes. But then he looked away.

"Please, my good men, I ask only that–"

"Enough … Aldeth Sashenstar."

Evelyn twisted about in surprise, and so did everyone else. Aldeth, however, only took a hesitant step back.

A man strode calmly out into the clearing, tall and sun-browned with a long mane of silver-flecked dark hair trailing in his wake. He was shrouded in little more than thick wool, a stout branch in his hand. He stopped a dozen paces or so behind them.

"Trespassers and butchers of our wood," he declared loudly, sweeping his staff slowly across them. It was not Evelyn and the others to whom he pointed though, but Aldeth and his two companions. "I, Seniyad," the man continued, "have come to administer the punishment that you have brought down upon yourselves."

"He is one of them!" Aldeth was stabbing a finger suddenly at the strange man. "They _murdered_ Elban, and would have done the same to us if we had not fled!"

"Silence!"

Imoen prodded her best friend in the ribs. "He's a druid," she whispered. Evelyn gave her a hard look.

"You speak of _murder_, Aldeth?" Seniyad continued, his voice slow and sure. "What of the druid that you slew in cold blood?"

"Slew?" Aldeth demanded incredulously. "The savage attacked _us_! He called his fiendish pagan magicks and tore Elban apart! Do not listen to these slavering wild men, my dear fellows," he turned back toward Ajantis and the others. "They lie, as befits the uncultured barbarians that they are."

Jaheira seemed to only get angrier, but Aldeth took his sword in hand.

"You are outnumbered, savage!" he thrust the blade at the man with a scowl. "I demand that you leave at once!"

But the other only shook his head. "I think not, Aldeth Sashenstar." He raised the long branch in his hand high into the air once, and then lowered it.

Men were suddenly sprouting everywhere around the edge of the clearing from the brush, as if abruptly loosed from the earth itself. They each swept in closer, forming a wide ring around the cabin and everyone inside it. Every last one of them carried a club, or a staff, or a branch, and were dressed no more than Seniyad at their fore. There eyes were intent upon the three hunters in their midst.

Khalid seemed more than a little surprised, and Evelyn glanced quickly at Minsc. The towering Rashemi growled low, tightening his grip on the massive blade in his hands. Neither of them must have known the others were there.

Aldeth took another step back, and his friends released their blades once more behind him. All three drew back into a ring. Seniyad turned calmly again toward the nine standing between them.

"We have watched your progress through this wood thus far," he told them, "and you have done nothing to disturb the balance as of yet. I will allow you to leave these men to their most deserved fate. We have no quarrel with you."

"Don't believe any of it!" one of the other men behind Aldeth was shouting out then, the one only half-shaven. Aldeth spoke up beside him as well. "Yes! They'd come looking for you as soon as they had finished with us!"

"No," Seniyad declared firmly. "They have done nothing. You three, however, will be put to death. Such is the punishment for your crimes."

Ajantis had his blade in hand then as well. "Whatever has happened here," he called out loudly, "we cannot allow the killing to continue. Murder does not answer murder!"

"Do not be a fool, boy."

"Seniyad!" Suddenly Jaheira was striding out before them then. She settled her hard eyes on the other druid. "Do you not recognize me? It is I, Jaheira!" She planted her staff firmly in the ground.

"Jaheira?" The man seemed taken aback for a moment. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the other druids that surrounded them. "I was not told that you accompanied these others. It has … it has been a long time, young one."

The other only nodded her head. "I agree, _old _one." she pursed her lips. "But it seems you have not changed much. Are you the bark of this wood, Seniyad? Or is there any mercy in your protection?"

"Ah, yes," the man grinned wryly. "The source of our constant disagreement, wasn't it? I had hoped that your exposure to civilization would make you reconsider your views. Alas, it appears that has not happened."

"I do not condone this manner of behavior, Seniyad," the half-Elven woman assured him quickly, "but neither do I condone yours. Death is not the answer for this crime."

"So you have made clear to me on all too many an occasion in the past. But I cannot yield on this one. Balance _must_ be maintained!"

"What is this, Seniyad? This is not the proper way. Of what _balance _do you speak?"

The man seemed uneasy for a moment, looking quickly to the druids gathered in the ring around them. His face became even harder, and then he abruptly pressed forward and closer to the dusky-skinned woman. Evelyn moved swiftly to her side as well. The man hardly seemed as if he intended to attack, but she was not about to take that chance. The other woman gave her a warning eye as she neared.

"What is wrong here, old friend?" Jaheira was demanding of him quietly then. "Your words were often harsh, but not your actions. These men should have been turned out of the wood, not attacked!"

"You know not of what you speak, child," the other rebuked her swiftly. "These are trying times for our brothers and sisters of the wood. A firm hand is necessary if the balance is to be maintained."

"What do you mean?" Evelyn asked before the other woman could. The old druid gave her another doubtful look.

"Who is this, Jaheira? She is no druid." He stabbed a finger toward her chest. "And she wears the tanned hides of slaughtered beasts."

"So do I, Seniyad," the other woman offered swiftly. "It is not to be condemned if offered freely or taken with respect. This one means no dishonor to the wood."

The man left it at that, though he gave her no few stern looks. Still, he seemed far more concerned with other matters to pay her much more attention then.

"This is not the time to speak of this," Seniyad continued firmly. "These men must be dealt with. Then we will discuss the matter freely." But Jaheira only shook her head.

"I will not let you simply kill these men, old friend. This is not our way." The other returned her hard look, eye for eye, and the half-Elven woman flexed her hand about the oaken staff in her hand. The man narrowed his eyes while tightening his own grip on the stout branch. For a time, they did not speak.

Evelyn finally broke in between them, pushing the two apart. "Please," she turned on the old man. "There must be some other way. Listen to her. This isn't right."

The old druid fixed those hard eyes down on her, clenching his jaw. "Your sense of what is right you can keep to yourself and your cities, girl. It will not long survive you here."

"_No_, Seniyad," Jaheira broke in quickly. "You will not do this."

They swiftly began their silent sparring again anew. But the other seemed to grow tired of it quickly. He sighed, all but growling in his throat.

"Very well, then," he told them. "It will seem weakness that can be ill-afforded but …" He rounded on the three men who had, until then, stood anxiously clutching at their weapons. "You! Aldeth Sashenstar." The man stiffened where he stood, but faced the other down. "Get out of my sight, _defiler_ of nature. You are fortunate that Jaheira's word is valued so highly, lest I would show you the full meaning of nature's wrath!"

Aldeth glanced quickly about, still uncertain, but then Seniyad was barking orders back at the druids behind him.

"Darwyn! Feras! Take this _scum_ to the edge of the wood and see that they come to no harm until then." Two of the half-naked men spared each other a quick glance, and then hurried forward.

"Wait!" Aldeth protested suddenly. "We will need time to gather our belongings. This wood is dangerous, and we must be prepared for the return journey." But the druid only shook his head.

"You will leave now, Aldeth Sashenstar," he declared firmly, "and you will never return. If I, or any of my brothers and sisters, ever catch scent of your murderous hides in these forests again, we will not hesitate to strike you down. Now go!"

The man still seemed hesitant, but quickly nodded his head. With his two companions in tow, he pushed out between the others and moved quickly toward the druids.

"Thank you for your assistance, strangers," he offered hastily as he passed Jaheira and Evelyn. Seniyad was glaring at him the whole time. "If you should ever travel to Baldur's Gate and happen upon the Merchants' League, I promise I will return this boon and aid you in any way I can." The two druids fell in behind them as he turned away. The ring yielded, and he vanished along the path behind.

"I cannot agree with this, young one," the old druid spoke quietly after the hunters had gone. Jaheira glanced up at him.

"You should," she told him. "They say men are supposed to grow wiser with age." She folded her arms across her chest. "I think Nature must never have intended for them to grow wise at all."

The man nodded slowly. "Where would our need for our sisters of this world be then?" He grinned wryly down at her. But then his face turned to chiseled stone once more.

"Come, Jaheira." He took her by the arm. "You must have some purpose for being here. And there is much we might discuss."

* * *

"They have grown strong, Jaheira."

Jaheira frowned at Seniyad, but said nothing. Evelyn trailed along behind them.

"_Who_ has grown strong?"

They had continued along into the wood at the behest of the old druid, just catching sight of his followers tightening their circle around the log cabin behind and beginning to chant. For a moment the forest had seemed to come alive and begin to swallow the squat building. And Evelyn couldn't help but think what might have happened had they not come along. She cringed at the thought of someone being sealed away and crushed alive as the very earth and trees conspired to swallow them whole. At least they had gotten away. The others followed somewhere close behind.

Seniyad glanced back at her, giving her another hard look. "The Shadow Druids," was all he said.

The other woman seemed not to take the thought of it too well, and Evelyn couldn't help herself. "Shadow Druids?" she ventured once more at his back. She was not disappointed for another stern eye.

"The Shadow Druids believe in the violent suppression of all forms of civilization," he told her then. "They are militant, and not to be trusted. It would be best if you avoided them."

The old man suddenly came to a stop, gesturing ahead. There was the distinct murmur of water rushing along further on, and with a peak through the screen of branches before them, Evelyn caught sight of a wide brook.

"Follow this and it will take you further into the forest," the druid told them. "I do not know of these two men of whom you speak, but I do know of an armed encampment on the northern boundaries of the wood. An organization known as the Iron Throne makes residence in the fort. Though I do not know their purpose for being there, their fort_ is_ built above an old abandoned Dwarven iron mine."

"Iron Throne …" Evelyn murmured to herself. Jaheira seemed not to notice.

"I want you to leave the matters of this wood to _me_, Jaheira," Seniyad was saying. "You have done quite enough already." He fixed the half-Elven woman with a firm eye. "Do not approach or provoke the Shadow Druids. They are the concern of this Circle and this Circle only. Do what you must and be gone from these forests quickly. They have grown more dangerous of late."

The other woman pursed her lips up at him, but said nothing. After another moment, she nodded her head.

"Very well then." The old druid turned away. "I am afraid I cannot show you the way myself, or even promise you that these men are the ones that you seek. But I can guide you to one that might be of further help. We allowed him to pass through these woods in peace as his mission, though misguided, serves our cause. He is Elven."

"Can he show us to the encampment?" Evelyn asked quickly, and the old druid turned to her.

"Perhaps," he said simply, "if you can find him. He made camp along this water deeper into the forests. He might show you where the fort is, and guide you through the dangers of the central wood – he came here to hunt them himself."

"You allowed him to pass in order to hunt …" the half-Elven woman chided softly, raising an eyebrow at the other. Seniyad only shrugged.

"He claimed that someone important had become concerned with the beasts. And you misunderstand me, Jaheira – these creatures _are_ beasts, and a blight upon the forests. He came to hunt the Wyvern."

Jaheira stared at him for a moment, her face unreadable. But then she nodded.

"Terrible, sadistic creatures," the old druid continued, half to himself. "We of the Circle would not mourn their passing, though I doubt that one man might destroy them all. More likely than not one of the young acolytes will find his corpse within the tenday."

He sighed, and then hefted his branch-staff in hand. "But it is time we go our separate ways. I have my duties to attend to. I suggest you do the same. The man told us that his name was Coran. Look for him, but I should suspect that he will find _you_."

And then the old druid was gone, swallowed back into the forest. Evelyn only shook her head.

_The Iron Throne _...

Well, they would see just what they would when they got there. Ender Sai had said something of them. They had something to do with Tazok. Whether or not he was at that fort, though, was all she really cared about. But at least they had found the trail. This time … she hoped it would prove to be more than a dead end.


	34. Chapter 4 Denizen of the Deep

_**Denizen of the Deep**_

"I wish you would have told me about the druids."

Jaheira glanced over at her as they walked, but then returned to the path ahead. It was easy going along the creek deeper into the forest. Unfortunately they didn't really know just what they were looking for, only that some Elven man had apparently set up camp somewhere ahead. She hoped that Seniyad had been right about Coran finding them, though, because there was hardly any sign of anything in the wilderness that sprawled around them now. How the druids could survive here was beyond her.

The other woman pursed her lips, giving her a wry look. "Perhaps I should have at that. But I need not tell you everything. I hardly pry into all of your secrets, Evelyn."

She knew exactly what the other meant by that, but she didn't care. It wasn't as if she had any explanation for her. She wasn't _keeping_ a secret. Whatever that thing lurking just inside her and burning for spilt blood was hardly something she had a name or purpose for yet. Still, she tried to forget about it. Even the other woman's words seemed to stir it from its slumber. She could almost _feel_ it squirming around in there. But there would be a time for it later. They had more important things to worry about.

"But what if you hadn't been able to convince him?" she pressed, feeling just a little irritated at the other's dry and dismissive tone. "What if he had attacked us? What if they _all_ had?" She hesitated to think of it, remembering the fate of the cabin.

The creek had grown louder beside them, now roaring over some shallow rapids that they were forced to carefully pick their way along. The banks had become steep, and the path was filled with rocks. Evelyn leapt from one large boulder to another. The druid followed close behind. When they had reached the other side, and the earth began to level out once more, she finally spoke.

"Perhaps you are right," the other said evenly, betraying nothing by her face. Evelyn waited for more, but nothing came. She couldn't help but remember Kivan, and how he had kept secrets from her too, and it made her more than a little angry. Jaheira held more by far, and it frightened her – just what she didn't know. But the other woman had acted with a little more prudence and caution in regard to those secrets. She couldn't say that Kivan had always done the same. And, by the way she stiffened, Evelyn doubted that the druid was going to tell her anything more just then. So she let the matter rest.

It had been early afternoon by the time they had begun their march along the river, and now the sun was already sinking into the western sky. It hung just above the branches of the trees on the opposite side of the creek. They would have to stop for the night if they didn't find anything soon.

She dropped back at one point, letting Imoen catch up to her. Her best friend gave her a reassuring smile, but Evelyn didn't return it. Instead she spoke.

"Imoen," she kept her voice as quiet as she could, glancing briefly back over her shoulder, "do you know what a Red Wizard is?" The other woman only gave her a look of surprise.

"Um …" Her face scrunched up for a moment before she seemed to come up with anything. "I think they come from somewhere in the east."

"Like Rasheman?" Evelyn offered quickly.

Imoen only shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe. I overheard one of the monks say something about it once. I wasn't really paying attention though."

Evelyn glanced once more back over her shoulder, catching sight of the towering Rashemi helping his witch up along a steep rise against the creek. Edwin trailed along some distance behind them.

Dynaheir had called the other a Red Wizard, not thinking much of it at the time and seeming far too angry of a sudden to care. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good to Evelyn. She somehow doubted that the wizard was from Rasheman, though. His accent was different than theirs, and he didn't compare to their much darker skin. Maybe she was wrong though. Maybe the woman had just been poking fun at his clothes. They _were_ a rather gaudy red.

She would have asked Jaheira, but she wasn't so sure she would have gotten a straight answer. That and she wasn't sure the other woman had heard the witch call him that. If nothing it was a secret she might have over the druid. It would serve her right. But, she was forced to admit, of all the others with her now, Imoen was the only one she could _really_ trust. Whatever Xan said or Ajantis promised, Imoen was the only one she knew would never betray her … not for anything. It was sad and comforting all at once.

Dynaheir had offered to help her – to repay the debt she thought she owed for their rescuing her from the Gnolls. But Evelyn had just been helping Minsc in return for saving her life. The woman wasn't being truthful with her, she knew that. She kept as many secrets as Jaheira, that much was certain, though Evelyn would still trust the half-Elven woman over the Rashemi. But Dynaheir was following her for a reason … and Edwin was following _her_. Whatever might happen, as reckless or dangerous as the wizard might prove himself to be, it was Dynaheir who she was afraid of. Sometime soon … she was going to have to change that.

Jaheira stopped ahead of them sometime later, her husband at her side. Evelyn pushed forward quickly toward them.

"What is it?"

Khalid pointed, and she followed the gesture ahead along the creek a few dozen paces. The sun had vanished behind the trees, and the soft glow it left behind made it difficult to see. But she could still make out the two tall oaks that stretched up and out over the water, reaching toward each other high above. It was not they to which the man was pointing, however, but what hung between them.

Even in the growing gloom, Evelyn could see the thick line that bound the two trees above the creek. It was a faint color, almost transparent, and when the wind stopped blowing and it settled, it all but vanished from her sight. She turned to the druid.

"I think it would be best if we made camp soon," the other woman said after a moment, still staring ahead. And then she glanced at Evelyn. "The dark could prove treacherous." She turned away.

Evelyn hardly cared for the warning in her tone, and opened her mouth to ask her just what she meant by it. But then the others had caught up to them. Xan was the only one who seemed to notice that strange sight ahead in the path. He stiffened abruptly. She simply nodded.

"Alright."

* * *

By the time it was dark, Evelyn was breathing raggedly and covered in sweat. She finally dropped the branch she held in her hand – little more than a hard stick really – and swept a hand back through her mess of limp black hair. Ajantis had done the same, moments before, and it was only after he had finally admitted that there was little use left in practicing while they could barely see that she dropped her guard. She had hardly been about to quit before _him_.

She had taken him up on his offer in practicing with her. Khalid had not seemed to mind strangely enough, actually seeming a little relieved. Maybe she had just mistaken that look he had given her though. But the knight had surprised her when he had returned soon after with a bundle of trimmed branches, all about the length of a sword and as close as he could manage to the weight. It was the best he could do without proper practice weapons, he had apologized to her, but she had only been relieved that she wouldn't have to worry about a sharp edge swinging for her head. For a little while at least.

The other had proved as much better than her as Khalid had, though he did not rein his blows back in so much. As much as he tried to at first, the knight still could not pull back in time to avoid bruising her at least a few times, and she received no end of profuse apologies for trying to beat her senseless. When the man had finally deigned to remove his own armor to even the odds a bit though, she had had her revenge. Even if she was sure that he had _let _her get those few vicious blows in, it made her feel just a little bit better. She had even managed to break one of the branches on one of them.

Ajantis broke no few of his own though, or rather _hers._ He had struck at her own branch so swiftly and mercilessly sometimes that she was left cringing with what little remained of a shattered length of wood held feebly in her hand.He had not been trying to embarrass her, though, only teach. At least, that was what she kept telling herself every time she just felt like pulling in close and fisting him as hard as she could. Still, she couldn't shake the thought that he was taking some revenge on her for what she had done to him in the Wood of Sharp Teeth.

"You are truly gifted, my Lady Evelyn," he was telling her, forcing the words through heavy breaths of his own. She noted, with some satisfaction, that he at least was sweating as freely as her. "I have seen few women concern themselves with such training, and even fewer still develop any talent for it at all."

She wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. She supposed that she had never seen any women doing any such thing in Candlekeep. Though, as she remembered, she had never seen much of _anyone_ practicing so there. Aside from the Watchers, everyone had been far too engrossed in their books. It was a little disappointing to think that things weren't much different anywhere else.

Ajantis bowed to her then. She wasn't sure, but she returned the gesture hastily a moment later. It was probably some knightly code of honor thing again. She wondered then, briefly, if she should have returned it at all. She wasn't exactly a knight. But the other didn't seem to take any offense.

"I will keep these," he told her as he took the stick she had dropped, "by chance you should wish to practice again, my Lady Evelyn." She thought about it for a moment, but nodded. She supposed she just might at that.

Sometime later she found herself back before the creek, stripping out of her sweat drenched clothes in the dark. She threw her pack to one side, ready to don whatever mismatched clothes she might have left that were dry and clean. The studded leather vest she would just have to keep wearing though, and she tugged a finger at the hole in the stomach, remembering, briefly, the feel of steel sliding into her. She gasped softly, but quickly cast the memory from mind. There were too many things about that night that she had wanted to forget.

She laid it down next to her other things, and then stopped. When she looked up, Dynaheir was staring down at her.

For a moment … she just stared right back. The witch was studying her with those cool, dark eyes. They were almost all that she could see in the dark, the sky choked with thick clouds above. Her dark skin all but faded into the night, but Evelyn could still see the slow smile spread across her face.

"Dost thou know much of who I am?" she asked quietly then. "Of Hathran?" Evelyn slowly straightened where she stood.

She tried not to think about how the other woman spoke – that careful, guarded tongue spilling just the hint of secrets. The rest she swallowed down, safe and hidden from prying eyes. She sounded very much like all those others who had cornered her in the dark in recent days past just then. She sounded very much like all those others who had tried to take her life.

Evelyn suddenly felt cold, and it was not for standing there in little more than her smallclothes and a long, sweaty tunic. She couldn't see Minsc, but the witch hardly needed him. If she had wanted to kill the raven-haired woman just then, no one would have been the wiser.

But the woman only stood there, and made no move. The smile slowly faded from her face. _That_ made Evelyn's blood pump all the harder.

"Oft we are called witches," the other woman continued slowly, still studying Evelyn as if waiting for just what she might do. "But betwixt ourselves we are called Hathran. Hathran are all women with a gift for the Arts. The Unproven are women that were not trained in the Arts. The Ethran are the trained, the Hathran are senior amongst us, and the Othlor are the wisest and most honored. I myself, am Ethran."

Evelyn shook her head, frowning. She was close enough to the other woman. If the other so much as moved her hands, Evelyn resolved, she would take her without a moment's hesitation. It was all she could do.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Then the other was smiling again, small and secretive.

"I and Minsc have been sent by the Wychlaran to determine if the prophecies of Alaundo are true. Whatever that fool wizard would have thee believe of me, our purpose is not bent on thy destruction."

_Prophecies of Alaundo?_ Evelyn only frowned all the more. "Which prophecies?" She had hardly paid attention to them in Candlekeep, aside from those made a little more interesting by the chanters. But that this woman had journeyed all the way from Rasheman just to see if they were true …

"Thou doth not trust in me," was all she said. She bent in just a little bit closer, resting her hands on her thighs, and Evelyn leaned back just a little bit further. "That is good. I would not either in thy position."

Those dark eyes searched Evelyn's own for a moment, and she willed them not to reveal whatever the other woman seemed to be seeking. She held her ground, saying nothing. Then, the other pulled back.

"I promise thee that neither Minsc nor I mean thee, or anyone else, any harm. The Red Wizard, however … I cannot speak so well of any of Thayan ilk."

_Thayan?_ She thought suddenly, blinking in surprise. But the other woman was gone just as swiftly as she had come, vanishing back into the night. She shivered.

After a few long moments, she turned back toward the creek. Whatever the Rashemi had said, she would have been a fool to think that Evelyn would trust her just because she had said she could. Or maybe she thought _her_ the fool. Either way, she wouldn't be. It was obvious enough that Edwin would have said very much the same of the other.

As she pulled the damp tunic up and over her head, she could only hope that the wizard wouldn't corner her that night as well.

She was sure no one else was waiting to waylay her there in the dark, but she couldn't shake that feel of eyes upon her as she descended into the water in nothing more than her smallclothes. She had picked a deep enough part of the creek to wash away the sweat and grime of the past few days, and she waded out slowly until the water was up to her neck. It was uncomfortably cold, despite the growing summer heat.

So Edwin was from Thay … She sucked in a breath and dunked her head under the water quickly. It _was_ far to the east like Rasheman she remembered, but Imoen would know more. She would have to ask her best friend about it tomorrow.

She came back up, sucking in more air as she pulled her mat of raven locks back behind her head with a hand. It was no copper tub in an inn, that was for sure, but she was still starting to feel just a little bit cleaner. A little hot water would have been nice, though.

The night grew quiet, and she was left alone then in peace to wash away all the sweat and grime that had accumulated over the past day. The Cloakwood hardly had any paths to move along easily within it, and they had all received their fair share of dust and dirt. Practicing with Ajantis had hardly helped when she had added plenty of sweat to the mixture. She certainly didn't care for the thought of going to sleep like that.

When she started to duck her head under once more, she heard something from the shore just before the creek passed over her. She froze there under the water, suddenly wondering if Dynaheir might have come back. Or someone else. Either way, she resolved then to just stay under until they left, folding her arms across her chest. She didn't need anymore visitors just then. All she wanted was to clean up and then go to sleep. But it was the thought that came to her next, that it might be Imoen, that decided her. She popped back up into the night air, fully ready to charge the shore and keep the other woman from running off with her clothes or something of the like. She would not have put it past her.

But when she glanced around … there was no one there.

She looked quickly toward her pack at the edge of the shore, but no one had tried to run away with it. She frowned, but nothing moved. After a while of hearing nothing but night birds and crickets, though, she finally shook her head and dismissed it from mind. Still, she tried to finish up quickly.

It was when she was almost done that she heard that something again. But this time, as she whirled about in the water toward the opposite shore, the only sound then was the splash.

For a moment she thought it was a rock, or a branch snapping off … or something, falling into the creek. The wind had begun to pick up. But as she heard water moving against the stream in the dark, getting closer and closer, she suddenly realized it for what it was.

Eyes wide, she abruptly started swinging her arms wildly under the water, pushing herself desperately back and away. She would have screamed but she gasped aloud instead. Before she could think to spin around and start swimming back toward shore, however, the thing had her.

She did scream then, as the water erupted before her, whatever it was spouting out into the night air. Every single monster she could possibly think of coming out of the water and swallowing her whole flashed in front of her eyes then, but all she could see was the giant shadow bearing down on her. She started to fall back into the creek, letting herself sink. But the thing snatched her back. And then she stopped screaming.

Something clamped down over her face. She struggled. She kicked. She screamed muffled cries through closed lips, and she thrashed every which way she could. And then the thing abruptly released her … and she fell.

She cried out as the water suddenly closed over her once more. It seethed into her chest. Something snatched at her arms and pulled her back up. She started hacking her lungs back out.

She waited for whatever it was to end her – to tear her apart, snap its jaws over her head … whatever terrible way it was going to eat her. But it merely held her in place, letting her chest fume as she desperately tried to put the creek back where it belonged.

And then she heard laughter.

For a moment she simply stared. Or tried too, keeping her gaze as steady as she could while still coughing water back into creek. It was only then that she realized just how man-shaped the thing that had her really was.

And then it spoke.

"Sorry if I startled you, my lovely lady," it told her softly, that voice lilting and musical. It was still laughing long after he had stopped. "But I could not help a taste."

It was a man, she was sure of it now. She could almost just make out that face, as shadowed in the dark as it was. But it wasn't Khalid, or Xan, or Ajantis … or anyone she knew. She stared up at him, still shaking. He had not let her go.

"Who," she started, and abruptly coughed once more. "Who are you?" She could hardly help the tremble in her voice.

"Me?" He laughed again then, the sound full and rich. "Why I am but a humble spirit of the wood, come to you in this hour of need to fulfill whatever desires you might wish." He was grinning broadly down at her. "The gods have favored you, sweetling, and I am but the vessel for their love."

She blinked up at him in surprise, her eyes gone wide once more. She opened her mouth to speak, but forgot what she was going to say. What _could _she say? He seemed to take pity on her.

"Ah, but I see by your perfect eyes that you did not know, fair lady, that this was an enchanted wood!" He seemed almost apologetic. "Yes, the Nymphs require much of my attentions, but even _they_ must wait for the dreams of wayward mortals such as you. And it is my divine and solemn duty to make sure that those dreams come true."

She had thought her eyes couldn't go any wider. But then the man was leaning in to brush his lips against hers once more. She had her knee up between them in an instant.

A hasty kick and a foot to his stomach sent the man splashing away into the creek with a grunt. She pushed back herself, putting as much distance between them as she could.

"Who are you?" she demanded angrily then, her cheeks burning. It was a new approach to be sure, but she wasn't about to fall for another assassin so soon. "How did you find me?" For what little good it might do, she had her hands up between them.

But the man didn't answer her. Instead he sank down beneath the waters once more without moving. For a moment, she thought she might have killed him, and she eased her fists under the water. She only wondered too late how the blow could have possibly done just that.

Something grabbed her beneath the water. She had had her feet on the mud at the bottom of the creek, but then she was tumbling over backwards with a sharp cry, waving her hands wildly. He pulled her under.

She panicked for a moment … only a moment. And then she fisted him just below the ribs, snatching herself free. She came back up gasping for air. When he tried to do the same, she wrapped both arms around his neck and forced him back down.

They struggled there for a few moments, the other finally seeming to become frightened at the prospect of drowning as she held his head under the water and refused to let him back up. He started thrashing desperately of a sudden, and she knew then for sure that he had been lying. She only got angrier, and pounded a vigorous fist into his bare back.

When he had stopped thrashing and started to slow, she finally let him back up. He was too weak to fight her then, and she started pulling him toward shore, one arm wrapped tightly around his neck. He coughed up creek water the whole way.

When she finally got to shore, she left him lying against the bank, writhing as he hacked aloud, and she hurried toward her pack. She was dressed in dry clothes as quickly as she could, ignoring the damp that spread through them then. She rounded back on the other.

And whipped back around just as quickly, her cheeks burning.

Dear Oghma, he was NAKED!

She waited then, as patiently as she could with her head turned away. Eventually, he stopped coughing and seemed to take stock of the situation. He rolled over slowly onto his stomach, groaning a little too loudly. She finally turned back toward him then.

Two misty blue eyes glanced up towards her, seeming a little bemused. He tried to laugh, ducking back down toward the grass and mud, but could not help gagging on just a little more water. "I don't suppose you could help me up?" he managed at the last. When she only stood there, staring down at him, he let the grin slide away from his face. "I might have expected as much."

"Who are you?" she demanded coldly once more as he started climbing to his feet, grunting dramatically with the effort. In the gloom she could just make out a handsome face, leonine and roguish all at once.

He faced her proudly, not seeming the least bit bothered by how indecently exposed he was just then. And the mud and grass that had collected against him did little to hide his nakedness.

"Why I am the ferryman of this grand river you see here, my fairest lady," he beamed at her anew, sweeping an arm wide. "I ask only for a meager toll of soft kisses from your luscious lips and I shall give you passage to the other side."

She kept her eyes hard on his face, still feeling her cheeks burn. It was then that she caught sight of his ears, poking up through a drenched mane of auburn hair.

"You … you're Coran," she realized of a sudden then. "Aren't you?"

He squinted quizzically at her, giving her a lop-sided grin. "Has Master Ormlyr finally heeded my counsel and dispatched fairer hunters to aid me?"

"What? No," she shook her head slowly. "I … Seniyad told us that you could help us find the Iron Throne encampment here in the forest."

"_Us_ is it?" he asked then. "So there are more of you? Perhaps Hanali has answered my prayers then. I do hope they are all so fair, my dear sweet lady."

The man took a step closer, and she took a hasty step back. She had had her hands ready should he make another move to take her, but suddenly she wasn't so sure of using them on him. She almost wished she had her staff.

"Where are your clothes?" she managed to ask, her voice only slightly wavering. A naked man trying to kill her was one thing. A naked man that was supposed to _help_ her was another altogether. She _really_ hoped that he didn't hunt like that.

"I left them behind to keep them dry," he told her with another grin. He winked at her, and he made it sound as if that had hardly been the whole reason. She wondered what he had really meant.

"Do you know where it is?" she asked instead, hesitating. "The encampment?" At least she wouldn't have to worry about him running around naked anymore after that. She hoped.

"I suppose I could find it for you," he said simply. And then he studied her thoughtfully for a moment. "But why on Faerûn would you want to go there?"

"I'm looking for someone," she said quickly. And she was trying _not_ to look at him.

"Hmm," he took his chin thoughtfully in his hand. "A runaway lover perhaps …?" She felt her face flush once more.

"_No_." She folded her arms across her chest, leveling him with an icy glare. "I'm going to kill him when I find him."

But he just smiled slowly at her. "Are you sure it's not a lover?" When her eyes only burned brighter, he threw back his head and shrugged. "Well I suppose I could help you."

He made it sound as if it were nothing more than a game, and she didn't think he believed that she had meant what she said about killing someone. That only irritated her all the more considering how close she had come to doing just that to _him_ a few moments ago. He turned back toward the creek, but stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in another swim, sweetling?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No? Well, it was worth a try."

And then he was diving into the water and swimming toward the opposite shore. Evelyn looked away.

The Elf was certainly much different than she had expected. Though, she supposed, she could hardly be picky with just what help she could find. Kivan was gone and they had no one so adept at scouting woodland as he. She only hoped that Coran could show them the way. At least he had been quick to agree to help.

She waited until the Elf came back, but he surprised her once more by emerging naked from the creek. He had kept his belongings dry on his head as he made his way over, giving her crimson-stained cheeks another proud grin as he slowly, all too slowly, covered himself back up. When he was done, he slung a short bow over his shoulder and faced her.

"We will certainly have to do this again sometime soon, my sweet. Now," he brushed her gently as he passed, glancing back. "Where are these friends of yours? Perhaps a cold bed is not my fate tonight."

For her part, Evelyn began to wonder if she had made a mistake.

It would hardly have been her first.


	35. Chapter 4 The Weaving

_**The Weaving**_

"What is it?"

Evelyn stepped up beside the Elf, picking her way carefully along the rocks. Coran had stopped without saying a word and then moved slowly aside toward a leaning birch that shadowed the creek. The others had stopped as well, trusting the Elf to guide them as he was, but Evelyn only grew impatient when he was silent for several moments too long. She tried to keep her tone civil.

The man rounded back on her slowly, stretching out a hand toward the tree. His palm stuck on a thick gossamer strand draped from the branches. He plucked a knife from his waist and cut himself carefully free. The thing drifted down slowly into the creek.

Evelyn only blinked at him expectantly as he stood there, still waiting for some explanation. He shoved the blade back into its sheath, and turned away.

"Have you never seen a like line strung from branch to branch in the forest before?" he asked then, facing the opposite shore. When she only shook her head, he continued. "They use them to move from one high place to another." He glanced up toward the canopy above, following it along toward the other side. Evelyn frowned.

"Who does?"

Coran leveled her with a cavalier eye.

"Spiders."

Evelyn glanced quickly back toward the tree, seeing what little remained of the flimsy strand he had cut. She didn't need that sight to remind her of the one they had seen just the afternoon before. Her eyes were wide when she came back to the Elf.

"Yes, rather large ones at that," he said slowly. And then he hefted his bow in hand. "All the better that we keep to this course along the water, I should think. They are not the best of swimmers." He winked at her briefly, and then brushed past. "Never fear, sweetling," he called back over his shoulder, "I will protect you from them." Evelyn only shivered.

Thankfully, they didn't see many more that day.

Jaheira came up along her side, giving her a raised brow and a sidelong look for the Elf at their fore. It had been no small surprise when she had emerged from the wood with the man before her, most of the others having been sleeping or just about ready to. Fortunately, Khalid had pulled back his scimitar when Evelyn appeared behind the Elf. She had almost regretted that.

Seniyad had told them of the man and that he might be able to help them, and so Jaheira had given him little more than a curious frown when he had introduced himself. After he had recounted briefly and gallantly their chance encounter in the creek, however, and in turn remarked brazenly upon the good company he had found himself in with no few glances toward Dynaheir and the druid herself, Jaheira eyes had grown dark. After the Elf had found a willing and excited audience in Imoen for more of the tale and just what he had been doing in the woods, the older woman had taken Evelyn aside.

"Such strong appetites and lusts are all too often a mask for more clever thoughts underneath," she repeated quietly now. Khalid was only a step behind her. "Take care in trusting this one too much, Evelyn. He might be useful, but I do not doubt he will seek similar use from us. Be careful."

But Evelyn had hardly needed the reminder. Her cheeks had still been burning long after Coran had begun to relate to her best friend in earnest just what had happened in the creek. That he had apparently been watching her undress and bathe had been inappropriate enough. But to think he could … could … Well, it was just downright_ rude_! Every time he smiled back at her she made a quick show of scrubbing vigorously at her lips and glaring. But he would only pout his own and blow her a silent kiss. _That_ only made her start fuming anew.

"Aw … I think he's kinda cute."

The two other women glanced over toward Imoen who had managed to catch up on Evelyn's other side. She was grinning broadly, though, and Evelyn knew that she was just trying to give her best friend a hard time. Jaheira only shook her head, muttering something quietly to herself. Khalid smiled briefly at her from behind.

Dynaheir had not spoken to her again since last night, though Evelyn had hardly expected that she would. No, she was certain that the woman was intent on cornering her alone whenever she felt the need to speak. And it had Eve half expecting to glance up from anything she might be doing to find the Rashemi standing over her once more. Fortunately though, Edwin had not seemed keen on doing the same. If he paid attention at all to what anyone else was doing, it was hard to tell. His dark eyes were always on the witch.

But if there was anyone who seemed to disagree with Coran's peculiar mannerisms more then Evelyn, it was Ajantis.

"This man threatens the sanctity of the group!" He had remarked rather vehemently to her at one point, though keeping his voice quiet. "He has already defiled you with his hands and unseemly advances, my Lady Evelyn, and he _sullies_ the virtue of every woman here with his wanton eyes!"

He went on ranting about the impropriety of glorifying a tale of _spying_ on fair maidens in their private moments, scowling all the while at the Elf's back. Evelyn had hardly cared for it, but the man _had _only told the story once at least. Besides, she didn't see why _he _had so much reason to be upset about it. She had been the one to suffer, not him. She had told the knight that she thought he was overreacting, but the man had only shaken his head before storming away. Imoen had just laughed.

"At least he can help us find Tazok," Evelyn muttered to herself. _And the armored man_. That was all she really cared about. She could deal with everything else.

Xan had been strangely quiet. Even though their new guide was as much an Elf as he, the mage seemed to have very little interest in him. Rather he kept trudging along somewhere close behind. Whenever Evelyn glanced toward him, his face was creased and hard, but he would always meet her eyes after a moment before shaking his head and looking away. He had not spoken to her again since that night.

Sometime later, the wind picked up.

Coran stopped dead in his tracks.

And then he was twisting back around, roaring at them from the fore.

"DOWN!"

Something screamed overhead, hurtling down and over the trees. Evelyn threw herself to the ground, hearing branches crack and burst above. Someone cried out. And then all she heard was splashing, as wood and bark rained down into the creek.

She was back on her feet in an instant, glancing quickly around, but then something struck her on the head and she went back down. She lay there in the wet grass for a moment, snatching at her hair. A piece of a branch lay beside her. With a low growl, she picked it up and threw it away.

Coran was kneeling, short bow in hand with an arrow drawn to the string. He did not fire though, and, after a moment more, he lowered it. He was frowning.

"Wha … what was that?" Imoen demanded shakily as she climbed back to her feet beside her best friend. The Elf was still staring off after whatever it was that had come.

"Get off me you blasted ape! A thousand daggers in your burning hide!"

Evelyn twisted around briefly only to see Edwin frantically thrashing beneath the massive bulk of the Rashemi. The other man had fallen onto his back … and apparently that had included crushing the wizard beneath him.

"Boo … Boo!" Minsc threw himself over onto his stomach, quickly scurrying away from the Thayan and towards the trees that lined the creek. He snatched at something beneath a small fir and brought a hand up toward his face. "Oh, Boo," he raised a warning finger to the thing in his hand. "Do not run from Minsc like that again!"

"Touch me again, lout, and I'll send both you and your witch up in flames!"

The Rashemi suddenly rounded on the wizard.

"Minsc!"

Dynaheir barked his name, and the man grudgingly removed his hand from the blade across his back. The witch gave Edwin a dark look which he returned with a flash of his hands.

"A Wyvern," Coran was saying, snatching back his bow and returning it swiftly to his shoulder. "How it did not see us I do not know."

Khalid was pulling his wife back to her feet beside them, receiving a hard look from her. He had thrown himself across the druid almost before the warning word had formed on Coran's tongue. Xan only sighed, brushing mud off his robes with a frown.

"A Wyvern?" Evelyn breathed. She hadn't even_ seen_ it.

The other nodded. "Huge beasts with barbed, poisonous tails. _Not_ something you'd wish to face, sweetling, I assure you."

She scowled at him, but he turned away.

"How much farther is it to the encampment?" Jaheira was demanding then at his back. He glanced over his shoulder.

"I couldn't tell you that, my little sylph, until I found a trail, now could I?"

The half-Elven woman narrowed her eyes at the Elf, her husband giving her a sidelong look. But then Coran was moving ahead once more, almost as if nothing had happened.

"Come, there is still much of the day left to hunt."

* * *

"Friend of yours?"

Coran glanced over at Evelyn, a lop-sided grin on his face. Jaheira crouched down between them, and the raven-haired woman leaned back a little to put the Elf out of sight. She turned back to the scene below.

They looked down from a wooded rise, the oaks and birch too sparse to provide any real cover but a fallen trunk serving just as well. They peeked over the dead tree and down toward where the creek began to wind away, stretching off further into the wood. A small wooden bridge spanned it at one point, and a man was sitting leisurely on the other side, puffing at a pipe beneath a tree. He had not seen them yet.

"I don't know," Evelyn said quietly, shaking her head. The druid grunted beside her.

"I do not like it. He is no druid."

"Yes, I suppose one's own kind is always more welcome and comforting when far from home," the Elf uttered then. Jaheira gave him a hard eye.

"You need not look so surprised, my half-Elven beauty," he told her, grinning wryly. "Your tongue sounds distinctly of the south – Tethyrian if I am not mistaken – and you have that positively _rustic_ look about you that just cries out midnight rituals by bark and glade. I find it terribly attractive …"

"If he is _not_ of Seniyad's Circle," she spoke loudly over the other, "then he might very well be with those we are hunting." The Elf shook his head, still grinning while he looked away.

"What is he doing here all alone then?" Evelyn asked. She glanced once more toward the path that led up to that bridge.

They had found it some time ago, catching sight of it briefly through the wood leading up to and over the creek. It was little more than a beaten trail, nothing terribly well-kept, but it was certainly more than a little suspicious. And when they had neared it and caught sight of the man on the opposite side, they only grew all the warier.

"It may be a trap," the druid suggested. The Elf narrowed his eyes just past her.

"If the beast we saw earlier is any sign, there are Wyverns hunting near. If we wait long enough, I am sure he'll be in little more than pieces – if that – when they're done with him."

Evelyn swallowed at the thought, and the sudden image that popped into her head. But Jaheira was shaking hers.

"No. If we can take him alive we can make him tell us what he knows of the encampment. It will not be without its defenses." She stood, and the other two stood with her.

"If he even has anything to _do_ with the encampment," the Elf reminded them. "Only one way to find out though, I suppose." He gestured with a hand. "After you, my dear."

"Khalid."

The half-Elven man was up and hurrying over toward them in the next moment. The others, who they had left on the other side of the rise and out of sight, followed soon after.

Evelyn pushed past the druid.

"Let's go."

When they came back down to the path, striding then purposefully toward the bridge, the man only stood and marched over to stand before the other side. He seemed not the least bit disturbed by their presence, leisurely tapping the pipe out against his boot before replacing it in a pocket inside his vest. As Evelyn stopped just before the bridge opposite him on the creek, he gave them a scrutinizing eye.

"Travelers ta my fair wood!" he exclaimed in seeming surprise once they had come to a halt. "Well bless me eyes and Tymora for small favors! It seems I'll be havin' a nice fat toll ta day!" He grinned broadly at them through a gray-flecked beard, shaking his mangy head. Evelyn took a step forward

"Who are you?" she demanded. The other seemed to perk up even more at that.

"Me?" he asked excitedly, hooking two thumbs through the front of his vest. "Why I be the toll man o' this here bridge! Old Peter is the name, Peter o' the North that is ta you fine folks."

"Toll?" she persisted.

"_I'm_ not paying to use that," Imoen muttered from behind her.

The man's grin only grew wider.

"That be right there, lass! There be nine o' ye and the toll be a head per one … so me gut tells me there be just enough heads amongst ye to pay Old Peter his toll, Tymora bless his soul."

Evelyn blinked at him, but she could hear steel sliding free behind her without another moment's thought.

"An ambush!" Jaheira barked at her back in warning, but the man on the other side of the bridge made no move to attack them just yet. Instead he fixed the raven-haired woman with a dark eye.

"The dark, quiet one told us all about ye, girl," the man said then, that grin still painted on his weather-browned face. "Said ta expect nine o' ye ta come bustlin' through the woods headin' north. Said ta make sure only one a ya made it through … and that that one better be bein' a bloody skull."

The ashwood was clutched firmly in Evelyn's hands. She glared across at the other.

"Who?" she demanded. But the man only shook his head.

"Now, now … that would be tellin'. I'll just be needin' yer head, girlie, and then I'll be on me way. Sorry ta say though … I can't promise there'll be even that much left o' ye when I'm done."

She frowned at him, wondering just what he thought he could do to them all by himself. Or even _her_ for that matter. The sword at his belt would have been hardly enough to stop them alone. And the bow slung over his shoulder would have done little either. But he didn't reach for either of them. Instead, he put his fingers to his lips … and he whistled.

The sound was shrill and loud, and Evelyn hardly knew what _that_ was supposed to have done. But then the wind suddenly tore at them from behind in a rough breeze, and a shadow passed over the sun.

"Eve!"

She threw herself to the ground just as something clawed at the air above her, tearing through the space where she had been standing. She heard a loud hiss, and then the thing was passing over her head in front of her. It flew toward the man on the other side of the bridge.

She only caught a glimpse of it … but that was all that she needed to almost swallow her tongue as she gasped. The thing was easily bigger than her, all scaly hide and tufted fur. Two leathery wings thrust out to either side of its sleek body, a pair of bowed legs dangling talons as thick as her arm. She felt all the blood drain from her face at the sight of those. Only a moment more and …

For a moment, it seemed as if the beast would tear into the man instead, it's short, bristly neck thrust out toward him. But it turned aside of a sudden, veering away. Then it alighted on the ground just beside him, its wings billowing out. It fixed two vicious yellow eyes on her.

The man seemed wholly unperturbed as that beast hunched over on its two, thick legs next to him, a long, barbed tall flicking up just over its head. In the next moment, another of the things crashed down to the earth on his other side.

"Wyverns!" she heard Coran hiss from behind her. Evelyn could only stare as the man turned away and moved back toward the tree he had been smoking under earlier. He picked something up, and returned to the bridge.

"Me precious little angels!" Peter tossed the thing in his hand toward one of the beasts. For a moment, Evelyn thought it looked like a bloody arm. The scaled monster snapped it up in its massive jaws before she could know for sure.

"How?" the Elf barked incredulously at the man. There was a loud crunch as the Wyvern gobbled at the thing in its mouth.

"Oh, 'twas quite easy ta train the little devils once I stole 'em as hatchlings from their nest," he responded easily, smiling as he patted the other beast on the stubby neck. "Only hard part was keepin' 'em fed. Not enough druids in this here wood to last me babies forever."

Evelyn suddenly had a sickening feeling about just what the Wyvern had been chewing on. She swallowed hard.

"Monster!" Jaheira was shrieking across at him. The oaken staff rattled hard in her hands. "You will die for whatever blood you have spilt in this wood!" But the man only laughed.

"Don't be worryin' too much, lassie. Them druids won't be bleedin' much for a while after ta day. Me angels will 'ave plenty 'o fresh meat to keep 'em happy."

He suddenly had a hand to his mouth once more, pressing it firmly to his lips. He whistled.

"I'll be takin' that toll now, friends. Try not ta bloody me bridge _too_ much."

The Wyverns leapt forward, one bounding on the bridge and stomping toward them, the other spreading its wings wide and soaring over the creek. An arrow bolted forward to meet them, catching the stomping one just below the neck. It snapped its jaws, hissed low in its throat, and bounded onward.

Evelyn thrust herself hastily up from the ground, coming to her feet just as the beast came barreling down on her. It paused for one terrible moment as she stood there frozen, looming up with a loud growl that threw its jaws wide. Its tail flicked just above its spiny head. And then it came hurtling forward.

The barb flew screaming at her, and Evelyn was then screaming herself as she threw herself desperately over to one side. She tumbled over, rolled, and then struck the earth with a grunt. The other Wyvern hissed overhead.

Steel was in hand behind her, and another arrow bloomed in the chest of the flying Wyvern just as it closed on the others. Coran leapt to one side just ahead of two dangling sets of razor talons, Khalid taking his wife down beside him and away. Ajantis thrust up his shield, the claws catching just the brim of it, and he was wrenched off his feet and over back to the ground. The metal flew free from his hand.

Minsc was the last in its path, towering before Dynaheir, but the beast suddenly picked up speed, soaring higher into the air and above the trees. Another arrow followed in its wake, a ball of light screaming upward from Xan's outstretched hands. Edwin just stood there.

The Wyvern was looming over Evelyn once more as she watched, jaws gaping wide as it growled down at her. The ground shook beneath her as it stomped over, and then those jaws were snapping for her head. She rolled over and away, thrusting a boot into the side of its skull. The barb flashed toward her once more, and she pushed herself away with a sharp cry.

Khalid and Jaheira were up again. She didn't know where Imoen had gone. But the flying Wyvern was sweeping down once more, this time straight at the Rashemi. Minsc had blade in hand, baring his teeth as he waited for it to come. But just as the beast lowered its claws to take him, Dynaheir pushed the man aside with an angry cry, throwing fire up in front of them. The Wyvern screamed as fire suddenly exploded in front of it, veered to one side, and hurtled down into the ground. It barreled into the earth, bouncing over into a shower of dirt and grass. Ajantis had his shield back in hand.

"Get the girl!" Peter was shouting at the two beasts from the other side of the bridge, waving his hand angrily at Evelyn on the ground. "She's the one we need!"

As the barbed tail struck out at Eve once more though, she could hardly know if the thing was still listening. Those feral yellow eyes paid him no heed.

The other Wyvern was exploding out of a mist of dust, its wings flung wide as it bounded back to its clawed feet. It howled loud, snapping at one of those leathery wings. It was broken, and bent.

Minsc and Ajantis closed in quickly.

Khalid was suddenly slicing into the Wyvern just above Evelyn, staying it from another flash of barbed tail at the raven-haired woman's face. The thing reared back with a cry, and then growled at the half-Elven man as he pulled back. It hissed, and then struck.

Jaheira leapt up at her husband's side.

The man across the bridge was watching, grinning broadly to himself. And then a knife bloomed in his chest, just below the shoulder. He staggered back, glaring up at the pink-haired woman bearing down on him with another dagger in hand. He pulled his own sword free with an angry roar.

"Call them off!" Imoen shrieked at him in warning, a second dagger appearing in her other hand. "You make them stop … or I'll kill you!"

The man snatched at the small blade in his shoulder, pulled it free, and threw it back at her with a fierce cry. Imoen ducked low, and it hurtled over and away. Then both daggers were flying free. The sword warded one aside, the other digging deep into the man's thigh. With a wordless howl, he half-limped half-charged toward her.

The grounded Wyvern was rearing up, heedless of Minsc's massive blade as it swung for its neck. Ajantis closed in on its other side, but then the beast was leaping forward, pouncing atop the giant Rashemi. Minsc went down, jaws snapping for his head. Dynaheir was screaming and throwing fire.

Evelyn was back on her feet then. She caught sight of Imoen on the bridge as Peter suddenly barreled into her, taking her off her feet with a shoulder and down to the wooden bridge below. She glanced quickly toward the others, watching Minsc fall even as Ajantis swept in after the beast atop him from the rear. The barbed tail struck on his shield like a hammer, throwing him down to the ground as well. Khalid only just managed to avoid having another thrust through his middle as Jaheira pulled him away. Xan was throwing light at the thrashing beast, but it was doing little good. He took his blue blade in hand and closed in.

And then her eyes found Edwin, the wizard standing amidst the fray without lifting a hand. Instead he only watched eagerly as Dynaheir threw magic toward the beast that had her guardian beneath it. But the woman was keeping a second eye on the Thayan as well, baring her teeth at him even as she desperately fought to take the beast before her down. Evelyn twisted away.

She was bounding onto the bridge, staff in hand. The man was still standing over Imoen, blade lowered toward her neck. Her best friend lay still, glaring up at him. But then the ashwood was sweeping toward his chest. He only just ducked backward before she took him off his feet.

Imoen took her hand and was back on her feet in an instant, another dagger in hand. The man stumbled back, but hardly seemed worried. He was still grinning at them.

"Make this stop!" Evelyn screamed at him, putting her staff between them. "I swear I will kill you if you don't make this stop!"

But the man only shook his head laughing.

"They wouldn't listen ta me if I tried, girlie! They've got the scent now! They won't rest until there's blood!"

The man only stood there laughing, taking a few more steps back. Evelyn could hear someone scream behind her. Minsc roared loud.

And then the wind suddenly picked up once more.

Before Evelyn could think to move, before she could even look up, something was sweeping down on them. She froze instantly instead … but there were no claws tearing into her from behind. The man before her kept laughing even as she saw the scaled, hairy beast sweeping down on him from behind.

The man suddenly wasn't laughing then.

Claws tore into Peter from behind, catching him around the middle and wrenching him off his feet. He cried out, but then he was suddenly hurtling forward, flying through the air and toward the trees on the opposite shore. Tumbling over into the ground, he vanished in a cloud of dirt.

Evelyn could only stare, wide-eyed as the beast loomed before them then, alighting on the bridge. It was easily twice as big as the other two Wyverns still raging behind her, but the scaled, hairy hide, stubby neck and massive jaws were all the same. Even the barbed tail–

Imoen ducked, taking her best friend down with her as the barb suddenly hissed between them, punching a hole right through the bridge beneath. The other woman cried out, but then the thing had retracted, and was stabbing for them once more. Imoen tumbled away from the bridge and into the creek below. Evelyn only heard the splash.

She leapt to her feet, charging back frantically toward the other side of the bridge. The thing stomped along right on her heels.

Another of the giant Wyverns landed in the midst of the chaos behind, sweeping down and howling aloud. Everyone fell back at the sight of it, even Edwin retreating a little into the wood while the eager grin faded from his face. But the beast did not attack them. Instead it moved toward the smaller Wyvern that had had Minsc.

The thing made a sound low in its throat, almost soothing as it stretched its head down low toward the beast with the broken wing. The other ceased its thrashing instantly, leaping away from the man beneath it. The larger Wyvern continued making those sounds, drawing closer. When it was just before the smaller creature … the other growled.

A smaller barb suddenly flashed toward the larger Wyvern's throat, stabbing deep into its hide. The thing howled aloud, raging of a sudden, even as the smaller beast snapped in at its neck. The bigger Wyvern opened its jaws wide then, and snatched the smaller one quickly up. With a twist of its large head, it sent the little beast hurtling away into the wood.

Evelyn drew up suddenly at that sight, wood exploding in the forest beyond as the smaller Wyvern vanished in a mist of bursting timber. And then she felt claws dig into her from behind. She screamed as she flew from her feet.

The other small Wyvern was leaping through the ring the Elves and half-Elves had formed around it, knocking Xan and Coran off their feet as it suddenly bounded toward the larger Wyvern that had destroyed its companion. It leapt for the bigger beast, snapping at its wings and side. But the larger barbed tail flicked over head, and stabbed the smaller one down into the ground. The barb struck it again, and it whimpered.

Evelyn was struggling desperately, swinging arms and legs and whatever she could at the underside of the beast that held her above. It flew up higher into the air, dangling her in its claws. She pulled free Fuller's dagger from her waist, and stabbed it in the thick muscle of its leg. It howled and let her go.

She hovered there in the air for a moment, suddenly screaming as she tumbled down to the earth below. She had lost her staff. But as the ground rushed up violently to meet her, those claws suddenly had her once more. She could only cry out as they squeezed tighter, and she could no longer move. Two leathery wings beat mercilessly at the air, and pulled her higher.

The beast above howled down at the one below, and then the thing was rounding on where Peter had fallen. The man had only just then begun to crawl away. The Wyvern leapt toward him, ignoring all the others as they pulled back around it. Bounding along the ground, it took him up in its claws, and he screamed. And then the thing was soaring up into the air as well.

As the creek vanished below, disappearing beneath the trees as they twisted away, Evelyn tried to scream. But the howl of the wind hissing around her drowned it out.

And then they were gone.


	36. Chapter 4 Belly of the Beast

_**Belly of the Beast**_

Evelyn flew forward with a scream, tumbling over and through the dank air until she struck stone. Then all of the breath was screaming out of her, as she felt her whole body go numb. She collapsed down into the dirt and dust, her head spinning as it billowed up around her in a small cloud. And then feeling returned … with a vengeance.

For a moment, she dared not move … laying there on the ground and breathing loudly into the dim light. Fuller's dagger was still clutched firmly in her hand – it was a miracle she hadn't stabbed herself with it when she had fallen down. She could feel blood seeping out of her where the Wyvern's claws had been.

It did not take her long to realize that she was in some sort of cave … a very big,_ smelly_ cave. She wasn't sure just what was making that stench, but she tried to ignore it. Her back was still threatening to screw up in knots on her, and the pain had hardly subsided. She thought she heard something crunch in the darkness. Flies were buzzing everywhere.

A shadow passed over the hole that led into the cave, and suddenly something else was hurtling into the gloom. She heard a muffled cry, and then that thing was tumbling over along the ground. Evelyn turned her head aside from where she lay, watching it come to a stop half a dozen paces from her. It groaned.

Something sounded elsewhere in the cave then, a shrill barking that she hardly cared for. But before she could see just what had done it, another shadow passed before the entrance. She saw two familiar yellow eyes duck inside.

One of the giant Wyverns was stomping forward and down into the cave, its leathery wings folded around it like a cloak. The thing it had thrown inside started moving, propping itself up on elbows. Evelyn realized then that it was Peter.

The man was bleeding freely from claw wounds of his own and she could still see Imoen's dagger jutting out of his thigh. Evelyn watched without moving.

The Wyvern trudged forward, opening its jaws as it slowly closed in. Peter abruptly stilled, seeming then to finally realize just where he was. And then the beast stopped. The man slowly climbed to his feet.

The barking and yipping she had heard had only grown louder, and Evelyn started as a tufted head pushed into view, snapping its little jaws as it hopped forward toward Peter. The man took a step back. And then another of the little beasts came into sight, that one slightly bigger. It hissed at the standing man.

Evelyn stayed as still as she could, holding her breath. Peter snatched at his belt, but his sword was no longer there. His bow, too, was gone. A flash of sudden fear passed over his face.

The two little beasts crept closer, snapping their jaws at the man, barbed tails bobbing over their heads. Peter raised his hands, almost as if they would keep the little monsters at bay, and kept taking little steps backward and away. But the wall struck at his back all too soon. He seemed to panic then, glancing frantically about. Evelyn could only watch.

Before the beasts could reach him, he abruptly turned aside and bolted for the entrance. Or started too. Before he could even move more than a few steps, the Wyvern that had been standing guard over it suddenly moved. Something flashed out of the gloom and struck the man. He toppled over, falling back against stone. Even from where she lay, Evelyn could see the hole punched clean through his stomach.

Peter moaned, trembling as blood started spilling out over his trousers. The Wyvern retracted its barbed tail, coiling inward once more. The two little ones only growled hungrily.

Evelyn hardly cared to watch what happened next.

The two baby Wyverns leapt onto the fallen man, tearing into his flesh as he started screaming aloud into the cavern. It echoed off the stone, rising in pitch as he tried desperately to beat them from him. Evelyn slowly pulled herself away.

She moved as quietly as she could, crawling along the dusty stone beneath until it abruptly turned wet. She tried to ignore the sticky ooze that came away on her hands, pushing onward into the chamber. The screams continued unabated behind her. So did the sickening sound of eager crunching and slurping.

The floor rose soon enough, but it wasn't stone she felt under her palms then. She pawed her way up, feeling whatever it was yield just a little underneath. And then she threw herself over the edge, rolling down to the ground below. Something cracked beneath her.

The screaming abruptly stopped.

She pulled herself back against the soft mound, listening to the sounds of the baby Wyverns still eating Peter behind her. She brought a piece of the thing she had broken up close to her eyes, squinting at it in the gloom. It was thin and slightly rounded, cracking just a little bit more in her hands. It took her another moment, but she quickly realized it was an egg. And when she glanced over toward the mound that surrounded her, noticing only just then how pungent that stench that smothered the cave was here, did she see the half a skull leering back at her.

It was hard to keep her stomach down just then.

Everywhere around her were bodies. Most were picked clean to the bone, others still had some bloody, fly-ridden meat clinging to pieces of armor. She even saw a single eye looking unabashedly up at her. It was a nest … a nest of half-eaten corpses.

She did lose her stomach then.

She retched into the space beside her, wondering suddenly just what that slime had been that she had crawled through. But she decided quickly that she'd rather _not_ know. She hardly dared to look at her hands. Fuller's dagger was still clutched tightly in one.

She somehow doubted that it would do much good.

The Wyvernlings kept crunching and gulping in the gloom, still devouring Peter's corpse as far she could tell. She chanced a glance over the pile of bodies behind her, trying hard to hold her breath, but they had not noticed her gone yet. As she eyed the large one watching the two eat, she wondered if it even remembered her at all. She made a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening that it didn't.

The others would come for her … she kept telling herself that. She _had_ to. That she had had enough sense left about her to escape notice just before suffering the same fate as Peter was as much due to how jarring the blow against the stone wall had been as her own failing reason in those moments. She had to try very hard not to think about the dead man being eaten … the stomach-wrenching sounds of it that echoed off the walls, or the terrible stench of rotting flesh that hung so thick in the air. Soon enough Peter would be just one more of those many unfortunates. Maybe she would be too.

_NO!_ she practically screamed at herself, squeezing her eyes shut. _No! No! No!_ She couldn't think about it now. She had to focus.

There was a loud snap of bone behind her. An almost gleeful cooing followed soon after.

The two Wyverns must have been the parents, she realized then, of the other two that Peter had loosed on them. He had boasted of stealing them from their nest. It almost seemed to make a terrible sort of sense, as she realized just what the big ones had done. It must have been chance that they had grabbed her too. At least the man was getting what he deserved.

Evelyn put another hand to her stomach though, and wondered if he really was. She tried not to think about what it would feel like to have those little jaws tearing her apart piece by piece, pleased yellows eyes watching while she slowly drowned in her own blood and gore. It was hard.

The others would come for her. They _had_ to. But how could they possibly get by that big one? Her heart suddenly sank there in a ring of rotting flesh. She remembered well enough just how easily the two younger Wyverns had scattered them. They had been lucky. Even if the other big one had gone, the one was still all too much for them. She didn't want any of them to die trying foolishly to rescue _her_.

But then she thought quickly once more of just what had happened to Peter. If the others could actually save her … even _if_ one or two of them _died_ trying … at least it would have been to a sudden barb or a snap of jaws and a quick death. That sounded infinitely less terrible than what she knew would be in store for _her_ … it must have been … of course …

… No.

She shook her head, casting those thoughts violently away. She would have to escape. Somehow. And she still had Fuller's dagger. If nothing else, she could end it quickly if they caught her. Let them eat her corpse. She wouldn't need it anymore then.

She felt the ground shake even as she heard the trudging footsteps of the large Wyvern once again. For one terrible moment she stiffened back against the corpses behind her, eyes wide and darting wildly with the dagger clutched to her breast. But it didn't come for her. Instead it was moving away.

Peeking carefully over the rim of bodies then, she caught sight of that massive shape stomping up and out of the cave to daylight above. It vanished.

She couldn't tell if the thing had truly left, or if it remained just outside the cave. She thought it far more likely that it did unless the other was near. After having two of their young stolen from them, she doubted they could be so careless as to leave their nest alone for long. It cast any thought of charging the entrance from mind, but she would still have to take that chance eventually. If she could sneak out quietly though, maybe she could survive. It was a small hope.

The baby Wyverns were still inside the cave. She could see them moving curiously around. One was still gnawing at the corpse of Peter, but the other had seemed to grow bored with it. That one had wandered off in search of other meat.

She tried not to look at the dead man, a pair of tiny, razor-sharp jaws tugging almost playfully at his exposed intestines. His chest was bared open and his ribs were sticking out, but his skull was strangely whole. Or perhaps not so strangely. Two dead eyes glared at her from across the cavern. She tried not to sick up.

Moving slowly toward the other side of the nest of bodies, she glanced over the rim once more. The one Wyvern was still too engrossed with the dead man's steady evisceration. The other, though, had wandered dangerously close to her hiding spot.

It ambled along, hopping more often than not. It even tripped a couple of times, flapping its leathery little wings almost helplessly. It might have even seemed so harmless had it not stopped periodically to nibble at stray bits of flesh that still dangled from scattered corpses on the ground. And she had heard well enough the bloody work it had done earlier.

Climbing as carefully and quietly as she could, she began to scale the mound of bodies, thankful whenever she felt the solid metal of bits of armor beneath her palms or even the hardened surface of leather. She tried not to think of what might still be inside them. And she tried not to think of those stories of the pirates of the Sea of Swords that Winthrop used to tell Imoen – sticking their daggers and knives in between their teeth whenever they needed two hands to climb. She needed those two hands now, but she made do as best she could with only one. She didn't dare think about what would have gotten in her mouth had she put the dagger there.

She crested the rise with little trouble, though. In a moment of detached amazement, she realized just what good footholds bones seemed to make. She forced herself to forget just whose bones they really were.

Reaching the uneven stone floor below in a crouch, she glanced toward the nearest Wyvern, the little beast still attacking what looked like a loose arm in bands of plate as it rolled away across the ground. Evelyn darted forward and down behind what she thought was a bear carcass as it turned away.

She caught her breath, waiting until the little thing was almost lost in the gloom before she started to move again. As she did so, however … something snapped behind her.

One of the corpses on top of the nest started rolling, tumbling down slowly and picking up speed before it struck the stone floor with a loud clang of metal. And then another followed it, and another … and soon half a dozen bodies were spilling down behind her.

_Oh no …_

For one terrible moment … everything seemed to go silent. It was deafening. And as Evelyn crouched there in the dark, wincing against it, she could almost have hoped that the Wyverns somehow would not notice. It didn't last long.

The one nearest her was suddenly bouncing up in surprise, howling aloud as it forgot the rolling arm – or whatever it was – screeching bloody murder. And then it was dropping down low, growling in its throat. The other only paid it half a mind. But then the one was hopping forward, hissing.

She hardly knew if the thing had seen her, but it didn't matter. She waited until it got close, and then darted around the other side of the carcass before her. The gloom was thick, but she doubted that they hadn't found her then, hearing the loud bark at her back. The Wyvern leapt on her heels.

She sprinted toward the opening on the far end. Or tried to. Even before she had picked up any speed across the uneven floor, the other Wyvern barreled into her from the side, sending her sprawling across the stone. The little beast fared little better, though, as awkward as it was. But the other was quick to pick up where it had left off, and it pounced on her back.

Her fleet flew out from under her once more as she tried to stand, feeling claws suddenly digging into her flesh from behind. She cried out, but heaved the thing from her as hastily as she could. She jumped back up once more.

The two baby Wyverns recovered quickly enough. The one she had thrown shook itself off, hopping back onto its feet and rounding back on her. The other stalked slowly forward, hissing eagerly as its mouth gaped wide. She put Fuller's dagger between them.

The first little beast leapt at her, talons first. She twisted aside and away, letting it crash into the stone wall behind. The next was luckier. Before she could get out of the way, it had her in its jaws, pushing her back and down to the ground.

She screamed, but brought her dagger flashing toward the things skull even as it tried to bite into her hip. She stabbed frantically at the thing's small eye, and it came away quickly after a moment, screeching at her angrily. It flopped back and away, and went down. She wasn't sure if it was dead.

She hardly dared to waste another moment, the way to the opening clear, but the other Wyvern was stirring behind her. Before it could get back up, however, she had pounced on it, going to work viciously with Fuller's dagger. It let out one long howl, and then went still.

Breathing hard, she rounded on the entrance once more, hardly daring to hope. She flew up the steps even as she heard a loud roar from without. Before she could leap back out into the sun, something landed in front of the cave and everything went dark.

She froze, swallowing as she looked up. Two yellows eyes blinked down at her. A thick leg pressed forward, and talons clacked against stone even as it shook.

She took a halting step backward, the looming beast matching hers with another of its own. She could only feel every thought flee from her head all at once, some getting stuck in their haste and screaming back at her. She somehow kept herself from doing the same.

For several long moments, it did nothing. It merely pushed slowly forward, forcing her farther back. But then it suddenly seemed to sniff the air. It took one look toward the other side of the cave. She had no doubt as to just what it saw there. Those gleaming yellow eyes returned to her, blazing bright.

She ran.

It howled at her back as she fled, flying desperately away deeper into the cave and out of the light. The Wyvern roared at her back, the sound all hate and vengeance and blinding rage. And then the stone walls were shaking.

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no!_

She darted as fast as she could, but she could barely see. The Wyvern was stomping along behind her, bellowing vengefully at her back and picking up speed. They would both run out of cave soon enough.

And then she slipped.

That ooze squelched beneath her boots and then suddenly threw her off her feet. She had just enough time to see something flash through the gloom above her. And then she was spinning around onto her stomach and pushing herself away. Razor sharp teeth scored the stone as she threw herself back to her feet.

She stood, but the thing's hot breath was already scouring her back. Leaping ahead and into the mound of corpses she just managed to pull her boots ahead of its jaws. The barb struck into the body of a dead man beside her, the mail that still covered his bones imploding with a loud clap. Evelyn threw herself hastily over the rim.

The Wyvern howled aloud once more, the terrible roar echoing off the walls and driving her to her knees. And then its tufted head smashed into the nest of bodies next to her and it exploded.

She was awash in a sea of corpses then, thrown along with a cry as they tumbled over toward the other side of the nest. She could hear eggshells cracking loudly underneath.

Somehow she stayed ahead of the bodies, thrashing along at their fore until they smashed over the other end of the nest. She threw herself over it as well without a second thought, rolling along the stone. That barbed tail flicked through the darkness, scoring several of the other bodies and bursting them into pieces. Rotting flesh and metal and bones rained down all around her.

For a moment she was just another corpse, unmoving. But the thing stomped closer, and she was leaping back to her feet. She only managed to get to her knees though, as something struck at her legs from behind. She didn't bother to see what it was. She started crawling frantically forward.

Another Wyvern loomed before her suddenly … and for one terrible moment, she froze. The other behind her roared. She could hear that barb cutting wildly through the air to reach her.

But the thing before her didn't move.

It was a corpse, she realized abruptly then … a Wyvern corpse. It was easily as big as the one stomping toward her from behind, its massive ribs poking out of flesh that had been torn away from its middle. Spears and arrows pierced it almost everywhere that flesh still clung to those bones. How the thing had gotten there, she hadn't the faintest idea.

She hardly cared just then. Without another thought she was launching herself forward and toward the carcass, hearing another body exploded just behind her. Metal bits burst into the air, and one dug painfully into her back. She thrust a hand out and took a massive rib, hauling herself up. And then she was climbing inside.

The still very much alive Wyvern behind her hardly wasted a moment either. It reached her just as she plopped down inside the belly of the dead beast, hardly caring for the wet that soaked through her clothes just then. That she fit so neatly inside its hollow stomach was hardly comforting either, but she wasn't about to be picky. And when two yellow eyes glared down at her from just beyond those curling white bars, all other thought flew from her head.

The barb was flying for her, stabbing in between the ribs and toward her head. She turned aside just ahead of it, but that didn't stop the thing coming for her again. And again. She tried to move out of the way, but the carcass was hardly big enough to give her enough room. And then it came for her again.

Exploding into the bone behind her, a shower of dust and powder burst around her, but Evelyn snatched out and grabbed the barb. She caught it before the thing could retract, but that hardly even slowed it down. It whipped its tail back, pulling her violently up. Her back struck walls of bone, and then she let go, tumbling back down to the moist floor. Shattered ribs rained down on her.

Her cage was broken then. She twisted around in time to see a massive pair of jaws opening wide above. And then they snapped down.

She screamed, but the Wyvern came just short of biting her in two as she squirmed down even deeper into the muck beneath. Her cage of ribs shattered even more as the beast pulled back. Another moment, and it was pushing forward once more.

She wasn't sure what happened just then.

One moment she was staring up into a massive pair of jaws gaping wide, curved, razor-sharp teeth hissing fast toward her. She panicked for one terrible moment that seemed to last forever, all but feeling the bone tear into her before pulling her apart. Peter's corpse flashed before her eyes.

And then she felt something break free.

When those jaws came for her, she suddenly had her hands on either one. They started to grind her back into the bone behind, somehow kept from just swallowing her hole. But instead of hearing her own bones snap, and her back break, she was holding the beast from her, staving off that quick, merciless death. Its hot, fetid breath beat at her face, but she held, hardly knowing just what she was doing or how she was doing it. But her blood was screaming, feeling as if it were alive and beating at her very veins. She started pushing the beast back.

The barbed tail swung wide, flicking over the Wyvern's tufted head as she grappled with it, and then hissed toward her. She ducked her own head aside, and it struck hard at the bones at her back, shattering more. And then she _threw_ the beast back.

The Wyvern reared up on its legs, howling down at her. Her blood was burning. It snapped its jaws once, and came back for her.

One of the broken ribs lay beside her. She glanced at it quickly, knowing it too heavy for her to lift. The beast was bearing down on her, time almost seeming to slow. Her arms lashed out with a speed that seemed unnatural, feeling almost as if she were watching someone else do it. But then they had the broken bone, hefting into place before her. The Wyvern crashed down on her with those mighty jaws, slow and terrible. And then everything went black.

She heard someone scream.

* * *

"By all the Seldarine …"

Xan was staring, wide-eyed, ahead from where they were crouched amongst the brush. He stood, slowly and unheeding. That look almost seemed comical upon his somber face. The blue blade at his side sliced absently down into the dirt.

A haphazard circle of oaks and pines bounded the clearing before them, almost seeming as if it had intended to keep the stone pinnacle in its center at bay. But that tower of rock rose high and proud, its craggy face clawing towards the sky. A blood-drenched trail of stone and gravel swept into its side. And it was to there that the Elf looked then.

He was suddenly moving forward, and the others were quick to follow, though one less so than the others. Ajantis took their fore, charging forward in a dead run as he slipped his blade back into the sheath at his side. The rounded shield that hung from his other arm was bent through the middle. His eyes were full of horror.

A terrible thing staggered forward then from the hole in the rocky crags behind. It was a mess of flesh and dust, blood and bits of bone, and gore of all hues that painted its entire length. Some dangled from its long matted hair … more hung from the torn pieces of wool and leather pasted to its skin underneath. But beneath it all two eyes blazed … dark, and terrible.

"My Lady Evelyn!"

The knight was the first to reach her, those brown eyes full of fear. But it wasn't fear of her, no matter how much she expected it in that moment. No, instead it was fear _for_ her, and he closed in quickly, taking her by the arm.

Coran was darting past both of them, giving the viscera-stained woman only a brief glance before vanishing into the cave behind. He reemerged almost immediately, his tilted eyes wider than it possibly seemed they could go.

"By _all_ the gods!" he almost shouted, his voice incredulous. But Evelyn didn't hear him.

"Eve!"

Imoen was at her side then. But she didn't hear her either. She pushed the knight aside and stalked forward. Xan was standing before her. She pushed him aside too. No one else got in her way.

Only Edwin was left.

She stalked straight through all of them and toward the red robed wizard. He studied her with no small amount of revulsion and surprise. And then she was standing before him. She took him by the robes.

The man blinked at her, almost disbelieving. But when she did not release him, his face twisted into a scowl and he glared down at her.

"Unhand me, wench! I'll not have that vile filth staining my robes!"

But she didn't. She only glared deep into his eyes, feeling the rush of fire pumping through her veins and her anger burning bright at its very core. She could feel her hands start to glow as red as his robes. She didn't even notice when his feet lifted clear off the ground.

Edwin had been barking curses at her still, but she hadn't heard a single one. And then he suddenly fell silent, catching the last in his throat. He glanced down quickly, his eyes going wide. Evelyn bared her teeth.

"You watched …," she hissed at him through clenched teeth. She was shaking. "You watched as we nearly died." Her blood was on fire. "You would have let us die."

She was trembling violently, and so was the wizard in her grasp. She didn't notice. All she could feel was the heat in her hands … the strange pulse of life in the man before her.

"You would have let us die …"

She started to reach out to it …

"Eve."

It was how soft the voice was that finally drew her back. She barely heard it over the silence then … and that made it all the more deafening.

Something abruptly snapped within her, and Evelyn felt herself falling. It was as if all the blood in her body had been pooled inside her head, and then suddenly rushed back out to every corner of her. She felt faint. She felt numb. And then she felt arms wrapping around her.

She wasn't sure who caught her as she fell. Every sound seem to flee from her of a sudden, and it was as if she was hearing everything through a fog. She saw Xan's face looking down at her with a worried frown from above, and then Imoen was pushing into view. She tried to keep breathing.

Edwin's voice suddenly grew loud, but she didn't hear what he said. It was Jaheira's words that caught her buzzing ears instead.

"We must leave! Quickly!"

The sound bit at her insistently, and she blinked slowly up at the sun. Everything was fading from her. She heard Coran speak.

"Just one thing first …"

And then she let her eyes close.

She didn't feel anything anymore.


	37. Chapter 4 Fate's Edge

_**Fate's Edge**_

It was raining.

Evelyn glanced up from the tome in her hands, staring out briefly through the narrow opening in stone that served as her window into the world. At least from her bedroom that was. As much as her father would have had her believe otherwise, the Keep's library was hardly a substitute for whatever ranged beyond those walls. She was sure of it.

_The History of the Fateful Coin_ was hardly any more interesting than any of the other books she had been forced to read. At first, she had thought that it would tell something of the adventures of some kind of coin through the realms and how they ended up being 'fateful'. But as she read about Lady Luck either blessing or cursing each baby that entered the world by flipping a coin instead … she found herself as disappointed as always. Hers must have been called by Beshaba. She had all the worst luck.

She closed the tome and put it down with a sigh. Gorion made her keep a bookshelf in her room – as if that would have given her reason to like them more. He always seemed so intent on her learning _everything_ … it was almost maddening! At least Imoen got mostly the same treatment, even _if_ Winthrop was far easier on her than Gorion was on her best friend.

Still, at least he let her enjoy herself _once_ in a while. A long, long while. Jondalar's exercise sessions seemed exceedingly pleasant next to long hours locked away in study. If she had been living on one of the farms, or even in the cities, she probably would have been betrothed by now. But Gorion would hardly have allowed that. He seemed very much as if he meant to keep her locked away forever, until she was as old and gray as he. It almost made her feel like one of those princesses out of Winthrop's stories, locked away until some gallant knight came to rescue them. But she wasn't nearly pretty enough for that.

Evelyn sighed again, standing, and replaced the book upon the shelf. She looked once more to the rains outside. She almost didn't hear the steps behind her.

She turned around … only to find her father standing there. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her, studying her. She smiled up at him, but his face remained grim.

There was silence for some time then, as the old man seemed to look through her. It made her feel uneasy, but she would never have believed anything ill of him. When he made no move to comfort her, though, or to ease the hard edge to his features, she felt the smile slide off her face. After another moment, he spoke.

"Do you know what this day is, child?" he asked her then. Evelyn only shook her head.

"No. What is it?"

The other's voice was as hard and unyielding as stone.

"Today was the day that your mother died. Today was the day that I was given you."

She stared at him, unsure of just what to say. His tone was so cold and distant, he might as well have been talking to someone else. She wondered, briefly, if he even still knew that she was there. But when he moved past her toward her window, she had to move out of his way to avoid being pushed. She wasn't quite sure if that was an answer, though.

"I think the gods weep for that day."

He was staring at the rain, and she watched him, feeling suddenly very cold and alone. She wanted nothing more than for him to turn around and take her quickly into his arms and dispel the chill touch of his voice with the warmth of his beating heart. But she wasn't so sure if it was beating in there anymore. For a moment, the old man almost seemed as if he were dead. The gloom of the storm without did little to hide the sudden pale of his wrinkled skin.

"Father–"

"I am _not_ your father, Evelyn," he spoke quickly over her, glancing back over his shoulder briefly. "I have raised you as my own, but I will _not_ take credit for that spawning."

She was crying then. She bit her lip as she felt tears spring to her eyes. For several long moments, the old man's back before her was rigid, and straight. She wondered desperately just what she had done wrong, what she had done to upset him. Maybe he had realized just how much she hated reading those books … he _loved_ those books …

The only sound for a time was her quietly sobbing there in the dim light.

And then Gorion seemed to come apart. His shoulders fell, and his whole frame slumped. He rounded slowly on her, and knelt down. She could barely see him through her tear-stained eyes. He took her gently by the shoulders.

"You look so very much like your mother," he told her then, quietly. She latched onto that voice now, instinctively drawn to the sudden warmth in it. There was great sadness too. She could feel it. "She was very beautiful."

She broke his hold on her, taking a few shaky steps forward. And then she wrapped her arms tightly around him. He wasn't angry at her, no … he was only sad … and lonely. She hugged him fiercely, willing whatever was hurting him desperately to go away.

He seemed surprised at first. But then he quickly softened. He hugged her back, wrapping his withered old hands tightly around her and rocking her gently in his arms.

"Foolish old man," she thought she heard him say. But she couldn't have been sure. All that mattered was what she did hear him say next. It was the first time she had ever heard him say those words to her in her entire, short life.

"I love you, Evelyn."

And there, swaying back and forth in his large arms, crying into his robes, she murmured back. "I love you too." But her voice was too quiet. He didn't hear her.

"Please," he continued softly. "No matter what happens … never forget that."

And she never had.

Evelyn slowly blinked her eyes open, looking up into the night. Or so she thought at first. After a moment, she recognized Coran's sharp features hovering just over her face. It was hard to tell with how close he was. She had to cross her eyes, and then caught barely more than a fuzzy sight of one of his own misty blue ones in return. His auburn mane was dangling around them both like a shroud.

"I love you too, sweetling."

Before she could do anything – before she could even _think _to do anything – he was diving into her lips, pressing in firmly against them with his own. Something tried to part hers and invade her mouth, but she was twisting violently away. She struck him in the chest with both her hands, and he fell back with a grunt.

She sat up, pulling the cloak that had been draped across her away as she glared ahead at the Elf. She swiped at her lips, but the other only laughed.

"My sincerest apologies, sweetling," he grinned at her impishly. "I thought you were speaking to _me_." He shrugged. "But I do like to think of your sweet lips as a rose forever in bloom, always ready to be picked."

She gave him a frown, wondering just what he meant. He cocked his head to one side at that, grinning all the more.

"You were mumbling in your sleep," he told her slowly, savoring every word. "Dreams of me, perhaps?" When she only scowled at him, he winked at her. "Some other would-be lover then?"

"_No_." She felt her cheeks flush. The man only seemed to take it to mean something else though, laughing anew.

"Then I suppose there must still be a chance for _us_, sweetling."

But she stopped listening. Instead she glanced down at the fresh tunic and leggings she was now wearing. From what little she remembered just before she had blacked out, she was sure they should have been painted all sorts of colors, and reeking just the same. The Elf seemed to glean her sudden interest.

"The Tethyrian woman and the younger one saw to taking care of your wounds and cleaning you," he told her lightly. "And it was a good thing too. Your charm would have been greatly stunted by the smell, I should think."

She glared up at him, and he shook his head.

"Do not worry, sweetling. I was far away when they washed and changed you."

The sudden wink he gave her, though, made that somewhat hard for her to believe.

She glanced around, but there was no fire that night. The moon was out though, and she could see the huddled, sleeping forms of the others all around them. And she could just barely make out the towering form of the Rashemi standing guard on the other side of that space beneath the trees. He spared them only a glance.

The forests crowded in close all about them, the branches thick in the air above. Wherever they were, it was well hidden at least. Coran followed her gaze, and seemed to guess at her thoughts once more.

"There was much need to keep ourselves hidden after fleeing the Wyverns," he said quietly, glancing upward. "At least one full-grown adult still hunts. And it cannot be pleased with the mess you left at its nest."

Memory came flooding back in on her, and she cringed as she remembered all that had happened in the cave. It was fortunate that they had taken the trouble to clean and redress her already. If she had awoken to see even half of just what she had fallen into in the cave, she would have retched. As it was, she could hardly even think of eating without feeling her stomach climb into her throat. The Elf was speaking to her.

"That was quite the performance you put on with the wizard, though. I've always been attracted to women of strong … character."

He was smiling at her again, but she hardly knew just what it was that he meant. Those last few moments had been a blur. She barely remembered anything after nearly being eaten.

"I must admit … I cannot thank you enough for what you did," he continued after a moment. "We found your handiwork in the nest quickly enough. You saved me a lot of trouble."

She shook her head at him, not sure just what he meant. And he gave her a puzzled frown.

"The Wyvern you killed … I cannot even begin to imagine just how you were able to do so."

"The Wyvern I …" she trailed off, looking away. She had killed it? How in all the _Hells_ had she managed to do that?

But, she supposed, it didn't make much sense any other way. She was still alive, wasn't she? She must have done something … but she couldn't remember just what. She should have been thankful, she realized. But she could only cringe, and try not to tremble at the thought.

The man was waiting for her to speak, and she glanced up at him. But she hardly had anything to tell him. Instead, she asked, "What do you mean I saved you a lot of trouble?"

"Well," he flashed another ready smile at her, "I came to this wood to hunt Wyverns. The mayor of Beregost, a Master Keldath Ormlyr, was offering a hefty bounty for the heads of the beasts said to be menacing the folk near Cloakwood. And _I_ was looking for a fresh adventure to bide my time for a spell."

Evelyn frowned, looking away again, trying to piece together the fragmented memories that were swimming around in her skull. The Elf continued in a more serious tone.

"To tell you the truth, I had not thought much of my chances before meeting you. So do not worry, sweetling, I will be sure to share the two thousand gold bounty with you. It is the least that I can do."

She looked up at him sharply, realizing then just what that meant. "You have the … here?" she asked quickly, but the other only shook his head.

"Far too heavy to carry on my back for long and still keep my pace. And I still have a fort to bring you to, sweetling. I'll keep my promises." He gave her a lop-sided smile. "I buried the head rather hastily somewhere where it hopefully won't be picked apart by scavengers, though I think the beasts might be loath to touch it. I will find it again when I am done helping you, sweetling."

Some piece of memory suddenly clicked back into place then.

"Edwin. Where is Edwin?" she demanded in a low voice, glancing quickly around. She remembered well enough just what he had done while they had all fought for their lives. Or rather, what he had _not_ done.

"I would not worry about _him_, sweetling. You frightened him enough that I don't think he would challenge you again for a while yet."

Evelyn frowned, still trying to make sense of most of what he said. But she just couldn't remember. Still, she hadn't been worried about _cowing_ the Thayan. She was going to make him answer for what he did. At least Dynaheir had been more than willing to help them.

After a moment, though, as she thought about it more, she realized that maybe she was wrong. She played those long, desperate moments over in her mind – just what she remembered of them – and realized that maybe the Rashemi hadn't been so willingly helpful either. Minsc had stepped in to fight the beasts, that much had been obvious. But Dynaheir had only intervened after Minsc had been threatened. She had never lifted a hand for anyone else … only her guardian. But that hardly told her anything she didn't already know before. Or thought she knew. She shook her head, letting it fall into her hands.

"You know, sweetling," the Elf suddenly chimed in thoughtfully. "I have been thinking."

She glanced up at him, wondering just how much of that _thinking_ revolved around stealing more kisses from _her_. She supposed she would find out soon enough. He never seemed to be far from making some comment of the like whenever near her. But he surprised her by looking genuinely serious just then.

"This encampment you are intent upon," he began slowly, eyeing her carefully. "Perhaps I might help you in taking it. Provided," he added quickly, "you aren't fool enough to charge whatever enemies you might have within blindly. It would be fair compensation for completing my hunt for me, I think, though I hardly care for the thought of dying foolishly. And I seem to be between adventures just now. I think you owe me a new one, sweetling." He smiled at her at the last. "You did take my old one from me."

She stared at him doubtfully for a few moments, not saying anything just then. He leaned back, seeming as if he enjoyed that scrutiny for the moment, and doing his best to make it pleasant for her. But she was hardly measuring him for the worth he seemed to think. Instead she was looking through him.

He had helped them with the Wyverns, that much was true. He had warned them and helped keep them alive on their march north through the woods, and had certainly proved a capable guide thus far. She supposed, at the least, she could trust him not to be so reserved with his help as the Rashemi and the Thayan. And they would hardly know just how many men would be guarding the fort. They already must have known that she and the others were coming.

Eventually, she nodded.

"Alright," she told him, hoping as before that she had not made a mistake. The other leaned forward and clapped her on the arm.

"I knew you could not resist, sweetling!" He bounced quickly to his feet. "Now, get some more sleep before morning. I would offer to keep you company just a little while longer, but I have seen the dark looks the Tethyrian has been giving me every time I stray close to you. I do not think she would care to find me here at first light. Jealousy, I'm sure."

And then he winked at her with a knowing grin.

"Besides, I doubt you would have much rest if I stayed, and I would hardly jeopardize your wellbeing after so great an ordeal. I have my principles."

Then he was turning away, and leaving Evelyn to wonder just what he meant by that as he did. She hardly doubted he could have kept her awake if she had really wanted to sleep. She _was_ tired still. She _hardly_ found his conversations so interesting as to keep her from her bed. But, she supposed, it didn't matter.

And as she lay back down, bundling her cloak underneath and tucking her head against it … she willed dreams of Gorion to take her once more. She lay there for a time in the dark, letting them sneak up on her. She could almost feel his arms still around her … something she had forgotten so very long ago.

A tear slowly rolled down her cheek as they swallowed her into the night. And her lips didn't stop moving until she was gone.

"I love you too."

"This does not bode well."

Evelyn glanced up at Jaheira. The other woman grimaced over a hole in the leathers that she still wore, gathering up her belongings quickly in her pack. Evelyn had been forced to abandon her own leathers, as torn and stained with gore as they had been. It had been hard for her to do. She almost felt like she was loosing yet another piece of her old life with it. Not to mention, she felt somewhat exposed and far less protected now. But she didn't think it was that that the other woman had been referring to. She waited for her to continue.

"That the woodsman knew we were coming and was sent to stop us should tell us enough to know that they we will be expected. Someone has alerted them to our coming. And they will undoubtedly be ready and waiting."

Evelyn remembered what Peter had said on the bridge. The "quiet, dark one" was the one who had told them. But she hardly knew who that could be. She just hoped that he was not still watching them now.

"We have been being watched," the older woman muttered bitterly, echoing Evelyn's thoughts. "Possibly since Beregost. Even the bandits' camp. We will have to be careful."

"What about the Wyverns?" the raven-haired woman asked. The other only shook her head.

"There is only the one other we know of, but I think we will be safe so long as we put enough distance between it and us. It might very well have given up by now." She didn't sound too convinced of that. But Evelyn could hope.

Sometime later, she had finally cornered Edwin.

The wizard had been steering clear of her since she had awoken, but she was hardly about to let him hide again. He gave her a wary look as she stalked up toward him, her eyes hard and dangerous. He kept his hands at his sides, but she could see them begin to twitch.

"If you think I am going to let you endanger us all again, Edwin," she told him icily. "Then you are wrong."

_Dead wrong_, she added to herself. And she would make sure that that wasn't the only thing that would be dead if he did so again.

He narrowed his eyes at her, scowling. But she didn't let him speak.

"I should leave you right here," she told him, taking a step closer and lowering her voice. "I should leave you right here in the forest all alone. I should leave you for dead just like you would have left us."

"How dare you!" he spat at her suddenly then, clenching his fists. "I should burn you alive for your impudence! I offered you my help before, and you dismissed it. As if I were some charlatan playing at cheap tricks …"

But she held firm, taking another step forward. He took one back.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right here."

The slow words slipped off her tongue like drops of acid, and the other was shaking. She was sure only some of it was rage. Whatever Coran had thought she had done to him before, it had frightened him at least a little. He glanced quickly around, but even _if_ anyone else was paying attention to them, they wouldn't have helped.

The other was taller than her, and she had to look up at him, but he seemed to feel so much smaller then. It was good to know that he was afraid of her, but it didn't help to think he was a coward too. If the Iron Throne encampment would be as fortified and ready as they knew it must be, they would need his magicks desperately. It was the only reason she didn't make good on her threats then and there. But she wasn't about to let him know that.

"One good reason, Edwin," she repeated coldly. She lifted her chin imperiously, as if she meant to kill him anyways and was only looking for some amusement first. The other seemed to take the gesture for what it was. He broke down almost instantly.

"The witch," he told her quickly, "she cannot be trusted. Neither of them can be trusted. You do not know what such a creature is capable of! She would murder you in an instant if it meant accomplishing her goals. And with her kind, you will never know until it is too late!"

He was rambling, almost shaking as he forced all the words out. She listened, but only paid them half a mind. She had heard much the same before.

"And what about you, Edwin?" she asked calmly, her face smooth. "Why should I trust a Red Wizard anymore than a Hathran?"

He started in surprise at that … at the thought that she knew just what both he and Dynaheir truly were. But she didn't. Not really. The witch might have told her just what kind of creature she was … or she might have lied. But that the other thought she knew more than he had realized was enough just then.

"I … I will keep the witch under my ever watchful gaze," he told her, seeming to regain some of his confidence then. "You may have thought me idle yesterday, but I did not let my guard down for a moment! If the witch had chosen that instant to attack only _I_ could have stopped her. I needed to be ready at a moment's notice!"

She stared at him for a long time once he had finished. She could see the fear and doubt in his eyes, though he tried desperately to hide it. But finally, she nodded.

"Very well," she acceded mercifully. She tried as hard as she could to make it sound reluctant. "But you will do exactly what I say, when I say it. Am I understood?"

The man started to scowl, but stopped, thinking better of it. He nodded his bearded head instead.

As she turned away, she could hear him muttering loudly at her back. She was sure that he did not rein in the sneering look he had for her then. But it hardly mattered.

But Edwin wasn't the only one that showed some aversion to her that morning. No one had said anything to her, but she could still _feel_ the scrutinizing eyes of some of them boring into her back. They were wary, and curious, to know just what it was that she had done yesterday. She had killed a Wyvern – not just one, but three … and a big one at that. She should have been dead. That was what they must have been thinking. She should have been dead. But she hardly knew what to tell them even if someone had had the courage to ask. That she couldn't remember made it all the more frightening.

The witch, however, was the only one she caught staring at her. She had watched the exchange with Edwin with no small amount of interest. Evelyn was sure that she would. But those dark eyes seemed to dance with excitement now. And the woman smiled when her gaze met Eve's own. For her part, Evelyn tried not to shiver.

Imoen was the only one who seemed to resist whatever fear she might have had of her best friend, unlike as Jaheira and Khalid who seemed to just outright ignore it for the moment. She half expected the other woman to be the only one brave enough to stand near her friend as they started off to continue their march north, Coran at their fore. But it was Xan who came up at her side instead, looking sober and grim. He didn't say a word to her, merely walked along beside. But Evelyn didn't have much to say either.

That she had done something terrible and frightening was certain enough. She could see it in everyone else's faces, no matter how much they tried to hide it. Whatever it was, it had been worse than bringing Kivan or Imoen back from the brink of death. No one else knew it yet, but it might have even been worse than sucking the life out of that one assassin back in Nashkel. And that she couldn't remember just what it was for the life of her … that scared her more than anything.

It started to rain.


	38. Chapter 4 Empty Promise

_**Empty Promise**_

"Silence your tongue, scoundrel! Or, so help me, I will cut it out!"

Ajantis was glaring at Coran, his dark eyes boiling over with rage. But the other only laughed, seated down with his back to a tree. He was twirling a dagger in his hands, seeming as much occupied with that as he was with the knight bellowing at him just then. But then he put it away and suddenly looked up.

"Chivalrous paladin," he cooed in that musical voice, "does not your honor compel you to tell the truth on every occasion?"

"Indeed it does," the other grunted right back. He narrowed his eyes. "Even to so base a wretch and lecher such as you, Elf."

The other was grinning broadly, and he waved a hand aside. "Tell me then, my dear, virtuous knight … is my sweetling not the most beautiful maiden to be found wandering these lands?"

Evelyn started in surprise after a moment, realizing suddenly then that the Elf was talking about_ her_. She still had the length of wood in her hands, already growing irritated at the knight's distraction. But Coran had been watching them practice, smiling appreciatively at the sight. For her part, Eve had tried not to notice. But Ajantis had been another story. Already his eyes were blazing anew.

"How dare you presume, knave! You belittle her with such names, as you do all these women! You will address her properly as the Lady Evelyn!"

The Elf merely laughed, leaning back and throwing his hands behind his head. "But you do not answer my question, oh gallant knight!"

The knight started to bark another angry reply back at the other man, but Evelyn stopped him before he could.

"Ajantis!" she snapped, and he rounded back on her slowly, reluctantly.

His face was still livid, but she had already grown far too irritated with that exchange, her face flushed red as well. She liked to think most of it was from annoyance. She had felt strangely buoyant all day, as if her body had had life breathed into it anew. And she was practically bouncing where she stood, unable to keep still. She just wanted to keep practicing.

"My Lady," he protested, "this man is a lecher and a rogue!" He stabbed a vindictive finger toward the Elf. "There is no nobleness or purity in him, just empty air and crass jokes! We would do well to be rid of him."

She raised an eyebrow at him, her face hard. But that did not stop Coran from egging him on once more.

"How men like you could adventure in the company of the fairest of women and still go on as you do …," he trailed off, shaking his head. "One day you will understand that when a maiden like my sweetling looks a man's way, he has little choice but to drown in those deep, lovely eyes."

And Ajantis was twisting right back around and away.

"My Lady Evelyn would never let some pretty Elf with a silver tongue fool her! She is a … a Lady!"

Evelyn looked first to the knight, and then swept her eyes over toward the Elf. It was a mistake, though. As Coran caught her gaze then, he put a hand to his heart, his eyes glazing over for just a moment. He sucked in a breath before fixing once more upon her.

"It skipped a beat just now."

She twisted her eyes away from him, scowling. The knight's face seemed to grow a shade darker in rage.

"Do not turn away, sweetling, it'll give me melancholy!"

But Evelyn kept her gaze firmly ahead, staring hard at Ajantis. The man paid no heed to her mounting irritation with him, though. And that was becoming dangerous.

"Perhaps you should look to yourself, _rogue_, before you _lose_ those wanton eyes."

"Wanton, is it? To merely admire that which nature has so mercifully bestowed? I'd say you have noticed her beauty too, my dear paladin, judging from the way you've been looking at her as well …"

"How DARE you!"

"AJANTIS!"

The knight froze instantly in his tracks, and Evelyn could almost feel the fire in her eyes ready to burn them both to ash. The man had enough sense of mind to look ashamed, but Coran just kept grinning at them both. She might even have found it touching, the way the knight seemed to be trying to defend her honor or whatever … but right then she might have just skewered them both instead for all that she cared.

"We're done," she declared firmly, and tossed her branch at the knight. He just narrowly avoided having it spear his face. "I've had enough." Coran only shook his head, no mirth fading from his eyes. She wished she had another stick.

Ajantis seemed thoroughly chagrined, but she didn't care. With one last icy glare for them both, she turned and stalked away. There were far better things to do.

They began their march again soon after that, Coran assuming the lead easily enough. It was more than a little disappointing, but she made up for her restlessness with a quick stride. She was beginning to have second thoughts about bringing the Elf along with them. Or third thoughts. Maybe fourth … she had lost count. Still, they would probably need his help, and he had offered it freely enough. At least she didn't remember _doing_ what he seemed to consider a favor. But Jaheira had probably been right about him.

He spent precious little time tracking now, though Evelyn could hardly have faulted him for it. After they had taken her from the Wyvern cave, they had returned to the makeshift path that had been beaten through the woods where Peter had been. Jaheira had told her that it should, hopefully, bring them right to the encampment.

"They would need supplies," the older woman had explained, stepping up beside her on the trail later that afternoon. "And unless they have situated themselves very near to the coast – unlikely, as they undoubtedly wish to remain unseen if they have anything at all to do with the bandits – they must have a way of getting larger caravans easily inside."

Evelyn had asked then just why they wouldn't build a path from the coast, even if they were still a ways into the forest. The other woman had only pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"If they _indeed_ have something to do with the bandits … it is very possible that Tazok and his underlings would need some means of reaching them without risking sight of their activities at some port. It would explain why this path has been abandoned. I cannot see dead men using it as readily."

But there was still another reason that the Elf was continuing at their fore. He had far better eyesight than any of the others and would easily have spotted anything further along the path long before they did. When they finally neared the encampment, though, they would have to abandon the trail so as not to be seen coming. They could hardly afford another ambush, though it was possible that the Iron Throne had not realized Peter's failure at the bridge. Still, they wouldn't take their chances anymore than they had to. The only problem was that they had no idea of just where the fort would be.

It had stopped raining earlier, only a few hours after it had begun – hardly long enough for them to be more than lightly soaked. But the dark clouds above had not abated, and the air was thick and hot. It had hardly kept the raven-haired woman from freely engaging in practice with the knight when they had paused briefly around midday. Try as she might, she could not help feeling strangely restive, and a little heat and sweat were hardly going to stop her.

The other Elf stayed at Evelyn's side, silent and morose. She was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him … but, she supposed, it wasn't as if she had ever really seen him smiling and dancing about either. That sober cast to his face certainly wasn't so out of place. She tried not to bother him.

At some point, Ajantis had sought her out, entreating her as politely as he could to forgive him for his actions of earlier. She hardly thought there was anything to forgive – she just wanted him to make sure that he never did it again. He had protested, arguing that he had only been defending her virtue against a scandalous wretch … but she hardly knew what he meant by that. Coran had intervened at that point, apparently sighting them talking behind, and made a very obvious gesture of blowing her a kiss. Ajantis had immediately bristled, and the Elf had only winked at him. And then she sent the man quickly on his way, angry once more. But she did not spare Coran another admonishing glare. Gods, but they were acting like children! And she was beginning to think that she might have to separate them.

Imoen was strangely quiet too. Evelyn kept glancing at her best friend, but the other woman would only smile back at her whenever she did. Still, she seemed to be preoccupied with something, and Evelyn was all too sure of just what that something was. She just hoped that … someday … she wouldn't feel like such a monster. She hugged herself tight at the thought, suddenly feeling cold. The armored man would be dead first, though.

"Have you ever thought about what would happen once you left this world?"

She started in surprise, realizing abruptly then that it was Xan who had spoken and not some strange, wayward voice in the back of her head. He looked away when she glanced toward him, however, and then kept his eyes on the road ahead. She frowned, but was suddenly reminded of that day so long ago when he had saved her from drowning. She shivered, but didn't answer.

"I only ask," he continued after another stretch of silence, "because you are _not_ one of the People, Evelyn, and however beautiful your soul might be, there is a very _real_ chance that you will fade forever into the Gray Wastes."

She wondered, briefly, if what she had felt that day was what he meant. She remembered that fading feeling, of breaking apart and having everything that was _her_ drift away into nothingness. But she was sure that she had read somewhere that death was somewhat different than that … not so simple. In all those books Gorion had made her read, she was sure of it.

"What about you, Xan?" she asked instead, trying not to sound defensive. "What do you think will happen to _you_?" She thought she understood the meaning he was getting at, or would be. He had said he was not done trying to convince her of her foolishness. But the other only shook his head.

"My kind does not suffer the same fate as yours does, Evelyn. The Elves go to the Blessed Realm of Arvandor when we pass from this world. We carry a piece of that paradise within our souls, always."

"Then you shouldn't be worried," was all she said. It almost sounded like he growled at her then.

"It was not _my_ fate that concerned me, Evelyn," he told her irritably. "It was this foolish child who thinks nothing of the dangers she so _willfully_ exposes herself too. _But_, I suppose," he sighed heavily, "I will not enter paradise either. Not for some centuries to come after my inevitable death. So we are both so equally doomed. But, enough of this."

He muttered on to himself at the last, and she thought she caught something about the absurdity of talking sense into a child. But maybe it was just her imagination. Before she could bristle at the thought, though, he had forgotten her.

He didn't speak after that, retreating back into whatever other silent and gloomy thoughts were swimming around in his head and just waiting to be unleashed upon her. She didn't doubt that he was still trying to convince her to abandon that quest for vengeance. But she wouldn't, that much was certain. And he left her alone for a time, merely walking along silently at her side. She folded her arms across her chest and tried not to look at him.

Sometime later though, Coran slowly came to a halt.

For a moment, the Elf just stood there, seeming confused. It was hard to tell without seeing his face. But then Evelyn slowed as well, and Xan glanced quickly to her before fixing on the man ahead.

No one else seemed to have noticed. Not until Coran was rounding slowly back upon them that is, his eyes widening. They looked up to the trees above … and then flashed quickly back down toward them.

"COVER! NOW!"

Before anyone else could move, Coran was. He leapt aside from the path and into the brush beside, tumbling out of sight. No one else hesitated after that. It was a mad dash for the somewhat thicker cover of the trees then, as the trail exploded with everyone flying off in a different direction. And then there was nothing left on the beaten earth but their footprints.

It wasn't men that Coran had been afraid of, though. And it hardly mattered what little sign of their passing they had left so hastily behind. Crouching down under the low branches of a pine beside the path and breathing hard, Evelyn looked up through the screen of needles and leaves to the sky overhead. When she saw a dark, monstrous shape gliding along just beyond the canopy above, she held her breath. But the thing did not slow.

It vanished somewhere ahead and out of sight.

She glanced at the Elven mage beside her, seeing his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment. And then he gave her a hard, pointed look. She narrowed her own back at him, and leapt up from where they hid.

"Was that …?"

"Yes," Jaheira answered the pink-haired woman swiftly as they both emerged back on the path. Neither of them had taken their eyes off the skies above. It would have been hard to see that dark shape again against those black thunderheads overhead. Not until it was maybe too late.

"It has been tracking us," Coran voiced urgently, "or trying to. We must be careful."

"If it finds us …" Xan voiced doubtfully, shaking his head. But Jaheira cut him off.

"We will deal with that when we must. But there is nothing else we can do just now. We must continue on."

Evelyn glanced back toward the Rashemi and the Thayan behind them, the knight giving her a fierce look briefly as her eyes passed over him. Dynaheir returned her gaze coolly, but Edwin was muttering loudly to himself and seemed not to notice. If they had to face the Wyvern again … they would need their magicks. Of that, she had no doubt.

"Alright." Evelyn nodded her head uncertainly at the last. And then she fixed her eyes back on Coran. "You first."

For once, the Elf did not smile back.

* * *

She was twisting a ring around her finger as the sun finally vanished behind the trees, and the Cloakwood Forest plunged into night once more. She had almost forgotten it there, but it tugged at her memory just then, reminding her of days when she had barely known murder, or death, so intimately as she did now. That it had not been that long ago at all really, stung the most.

Kivan had given it to her, though he had meant nothing by it. It had just been a gift … for saving his life. Not that she had. At least … it had been _her_ fault that it had ever been in danger in the first place. But he had told her that there was some minor enchantment upon it, and that it would help protect her. She wondered if it ever really did.

She remembered him shooting her with an arrow. She remembered him threatening and pushing it deep. But she also remembered him taking a Gnoll axe for her without a moment's thought … an arrow in the arm back in the Nashkel mines … and _countless_ times he had stood in front of or done something because of her only to be struck down just to help or keep her safe. She didn't know if the ring had ever kept her safe – it seemed as if she had come all too close to death whenever she had been alone. But she knew that she had never been further away from death, more protected from it … than when he had been watching over her.

Whatever he had done in those final moments at the bandits' camp … he had finally hurt her. He had failed to protect her, and struck as much pain into her in a blind fit of rage as he could … And she was beginning to think that that was why he had really left.

"What's that?"

Evelyn glanced up, and it was still light enough to make out Imoen's green eyes in the dusk. She was peering curiously down at the ring in her best friend's hands. They still had not dared a fire, and it was growing quickly dark.

She stopped playing with it instantly, letting the ring finally settle. "A gift," she told the other woman quietly, cupping her other hand quickly around it. But it was too late.

"Oooh, did Coran give that to you?" her best friend demanded then, incredulous. She drew back, her eyes wide.

"No!" Evelyn breathed in horror, her own eyes flying wide. But the other woman only laughed, rocking back on her heels.

"That's too bad," she grinned broadly at Evelyn. Imoen shook her head almost ruefully.

The pink-haired woman was quiet for a time then, only smiling at her best friend. For her part Evelyn tried to ignore her. They had settled in for the night in a dense stand of firs and spruce, hoping that the Wyvern could not have seen them there beneath the thick needles above. But it also meant that they could hardly see each other either, scattered about between spiny branches as they were. Only Jaheira and Khalid were in sight, and they weren't paying any attention to the other two. The half-Elven man was holding his wife tight in his arms.

She knew the other woman was just trying to rile her a bit. She seemed to take immense pleasure from just how uncomfortable the Elf kept making her. But, after a while, she just couldn't stand that little smirk on her best friend's face any longer.

"What do you mean 'that's _too_ bad'?" she demanded, scrunching up her face as irritably as she could. The other woman glanced up at her, grinning all the more.

"Because yer husband's gonna be ugly!"

She narrowed her eyes at the other woman, but Imoen just gave her an innocent look.

"Well … you'd have been lucky if Winthrop hadn't wanted to marry you off to some fat, Sembian merchant!"

"At least he'd still marry me!" the pink-haired woman cried right back. "Which is more than I could say for you if he ever saw what you were covered in yesterday. You were disgusting! Even a Troll wouldn't want you!"

She growled, and leapt at the other.

"OW! My hair!"

They rolled around on the ground for a moment, until Imoen managed to squirm away from her grasp. And then they both fell back, laughing. For a moment, it was as if they were back in Candlekeep. For a moment, it was as if they had never left.

But then Evelyn stopped laughing.

She laid there in the grass for several long moments, her best friend beside her, as her face slowly fell. Jaheira and Khalid had gone silent at their unexpected display, but Evelyn ignored the sudden quiet. Her eyes fell as well, and she could feel tears spring into them. Imoen had stopped laughing too.

"I'm sorry, Imoen," she said quietly after a while longer. She shook her head into the dry pine needles on the ground, her eyes fixing ahead of her. "I'm _so_ sorry. It's my fault that all of this happened … You shouldn't have ever left … You'd still be _happy_ …"

The other woman blurred in her eyes then as she looked over at her, but Imoen gave her a smile nonetheless. It was sad, and small, she knew. Even though she couldn't quite see it, she knew. She sniffed.

"What makes you think I'm not happy?"

But Evelyn only shook her head once more, barking a pitiful laugh that sounded more like a sob before looking away. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"You're my best friend, Eve. You're the only one I have left."

"No," Evelyn countered instantly, sucking in a shaky breath. "No. You still had Winthrop. You still had someone."

"And you still have me, Eve," the other told her with another sad grin, rising up to her elbow. "As long as you're still my best friend … nothing else matters. I'll always be happy."

And then her face beamed. Evelyn could almost believe her … but she didn't. She just … couldn't.

She smiled back all the same, even if it was hollow. She scrubbed at her eyes quickly with the back of her sleeve. And then she sat back up, brushing herself off, and stood. She started to walk away.

"We'll get him, Eve," Imoen called after her, her voice falling low when her best friend turned back. "We'll get him. I know we will."

Evelyn smiled down at the other woman, but said nothing. Those green eyes frowned up at her, willing her some strength that she didn't have. But she would hardly have taken anymore from the other. She had taken far too much from her already. She turned away.

Imoen didn't follow her as she trudged along out of sight into the wood. And she was thankful for that. At least her best friend knew well enough to leave her some space when she needed it. And she suddenly felt very much as if she needed it just then. She stopped when she was sure no one else could see or hear her, letting the brush around swallow her whole.

The small ring was twisting around her forefinger once more, and she stared at it. She didn't like the thoughts it brought back, though. None of them were any happier.

She wondered, briefly then, if they might find Tazok when they finally found the encampment. She didn't know if she could kill him without Kivan. No matter what the half-Ogre might have done to her … she didn't know if she could take the ranger's vengeance from him. Knowing their luck so far, though, she doubted she would ever have to make that choice.

_You should be here_ …

But it was an empty hope. And it had long since faded away to dust.

"That is far enough."

Evelyn froze … and raised her eyes slowly. But the words hadn't been meant for her.

"Keeping vigil, Helmite?"

"That is precisely what I am doing. But you will take not one step farther that way."

The voices were coming from behind her, and she spun carefully around. She recognized them quickly enough as belonging to Ajantis and Coran, but neither were in sight. A screen of pines lay between them.

"And just why would that be? I did not see Helm's crest stamped upon this forest, knight. I hardly think it in your god's authority to tell a man where he can and cannot go."

"No, but it is within his servant's to do so, as it is his duty. And I warn you _not_ to go any further."

She frowned, unsure of just what they were talking about. They had not seen her through the trees, and she crept slowly closer, keeping as quiet as she could. She could only just make out Coran's back beyond the needles.

"Do not think that I am blind, Elf!" Ajantis was saying somewhere beyond him. "I have watched you carefully, as I have watched my Lady. And I saw just how you forced yourself upon her last night!"

"Really? Well I find that to be terribly impolite. Perhaps you should have given us more privacy."

"I am being _polite_, wretch," the knight's voice was low, and dangerous, "as there must be some small amount of goodness and morality in you. I did not intervene because I knew my Lady to be a capable woman, and she spurned you quickly enough. And I have given you _ample_ opportunity to stay your lecherous intent and adopt more seemly, _respectful_, behavior."

"Then perhaps you should remain true to that line of conduct, knight, and leave me to wander in peace. I am hardly _forcing_ myself upon anyone out here. Though if the opportunity was to present itself that a young maiden should just do the same to me whilst wandering, you could not possibly fault me for that, now could you?"

"Do not play words with _me_, scoundrel! I watched you leave after her. And I followed you here. You are fortunate that I caught you before you might have done something scandalous enough to warrant my hand."

_After who?_ Evelyn thought suddenly. _Me?_ She hadn't even seen him. But if he _had_ been following her … _What could he possibly want to do that for?_ She was hardly in a mood to play more games.

"I think you misjudge me, my friend. I have never _forced_ myself upon any fair maiden before in my life. Not unless they asked me to do it first, that is."

She thought suddenly back to that night in the creek, and felt her cheeks begin to burn. But they had left the water behind long ago. And she didn't suppose that he was going to catch her mumbling in her sleep out there in the wood again.

"Well my Lady Evelyn will not ask you for it! So you might as well just return to the others now. I might well forgive you if you do just that."

"Why? So you can continue on in my footsteps yourself? Now that hardly seems like knightly behavior …"

"No!" Ajantis rebuked him swiftly, sounding appalled. "But the closeness that _you_ impose upon my Lady Evelyn … it is the seed of lowly passion that all too often destroys the love between comrades. And she has made very clear to you just how little she thinks of your advances. I think it best that you accept her decision."

"Has she now?" the Elf asked wryly. "Perhaps a little more encouragement is all she needs to reveal the true extent of her feelings. You know very little in the ways of women, my dear friend, if you think that they _always_ mean just what they say.

"Or perhaps you would like to see for yourself, dear knight?" Coran continued quickly of a sudden. "I find it odd that you do not challenge me when my eyes chance to fall upon the dark one … or the Tethyrian beauty. Even my appreciation for the girl seems to escape your notice … and I would think that that one would seem far less appropriate to a man of your limited taste."

"Let your eyes wander where they will," the knight growled back at him, "I cannot keep you so long as you mean them no harm. But that is not the case _here_! You have offered to aid the Lady Evelyn in her valiant quest. Do not sully her virtue by forcing yourself upon her again! Do you understand me, Elf?"

"No," Coran shook his head with a laugh. "Do you even understand yourself, my blind Helmite? Do you spend so much of your vigil gazing at others that you're ever watchful eye does not ever see into itself? Do you love my sweetling, knight?"

Ajantis growled angrily once more. "She is _not_ your 'sweetling', Elf! She is not your anything! You dishonor her. And you dishonor _me_ by casting such accusations."

"But," the other lifted a finger, "you do not answer my question, knight."

There was a silence then, but Evelyn could not see beyond Coran's back. The branches blocked her sight. Then the man was speaking.

"My Lady Evelyn is a good woman … and true to the path of righteousness," Ajantis said quietly. "For that I love her … but not in a way you can understand. She shall see your corrupting influence, as I do, in time. And then you will be gone."

"I dare hope your Lady would," the other responded easily. "She has appreciably large … hmm … eyes."

The knight was boiling over anew then.

"You _dare_ to mock her further, rogue?" he all but bellowed. "Must I cut out your eyes _and _your tongue to end your threat?"

"I do suppose some of my fun would be taken from me then. I will just have to be more creative. You forget my hands, dear knight."

Ajantis started to bark something hastily in return, but the Elf continued right over him.

"Tell me, my paladin friend, so bold and pure, why is it that the fiery gust in your eyes extinguishes whenever they pass slowly from my sweetling to another?"

"You dare mock _me_ as well?" the knight boomed. "I see enough 'fiery gusts' in your wanton glances for three men! If you aren't careful, she will burst into flames just from your constant staring!"

"Don't berate me for professing love so openly for someone you secretly desire."

"You know _nothing_ of love, Elf." Ajantis' voice grew suddenly calm. "I do not have to justify my intentions to you. The only person I would feel obliged to reveal my desire to would be my Lady Evelyn herself, but I …"

And then he stopped, the words catching suddenly in his throat.

"Perhaps it was not _me_, my dear knight," Coran spoke softly, chidingly, "that you were following at all."

But Ajantis wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead he was staring wide-eyed and terrified just past his shoulder. The Elf blinked in surprise, but then he was twisting slowly around. His eyes were wide then too.

Evelyn didn't say anything … she just stared. She let her eyes flash from first one to the other, her face smooth and unreadable. The silence began to stretch between them.

And then, without uttering a word, she passed between the two, moving back toward Imoen and the others. They moved out of her way, and gave her no trouble. The trees closed in swiftly around her once more.

"I knew she was there the whole time," she thought she heard Coran say from behind after she was gone. But she wasn't listening anymore. She didn't dare listen anymore. Instead she lowered a hand to the ring on her finger, grasping it tight.

She made sure no one followed her then.


	39. Chapter 4 Cloak and Dagger

_**Cloak and Dagger**_

"So that is it then."

Jaheira grunted from where she lay beside Evelyn, gazing down through the trees toward the valley below. It was doubtful that they would be seen so far away, but they were hardly about to take any chances. Even as she stared down at that strange sight, Evelyn willed herself to sink further into the grass beneath. But, no matter what she did, she could not shake the feeling of somehow being watched.

The Iron Throne encampment lay down there – they had finally found just what they had been searching for. But as both she and the druid studied the wooden palisade below, surrounding a small enclosure further secluded by a moat, she suddenly felt all too keenly just what they had intended to accomplish there. The dozens of guards in their mail with shields and swords belted at their sides hardly helped to comfort her either. No matter what they might have faced in the Cloakwood so far, she began to realize then just how impossible that task might prove to be.

"This will be nothing like the bandits' camp," Jaheira continued beside her. If the other woman felt any doubt over just what they might do, she didn't show it on her face. Evelyn tried her best to do the same.

"Th-there is only one w-way in or out," Khalid added from the other side of his wife. "It would b-be sui-c-cide to attack them."

And it was true, Evelyn noted with a glance toward the lone wooden bridge that spanned the moat at the encampment's fore. There were at least four guards always standing in front of it, and two more with bows to either side on the ramparts above. Even _if_ they somehow managed to take the bridge, they could not have hoped to escape unharmed. And after raising whatever alarm she knew they would … it would have been those last few moments in the bandits' camp all over again.

"We would need a distraction," the druid stated evenly. Imoen chimed up then next to Eve.

"Couldn't one of _them_ just throw another ball of fire in there?" the pink-haired woman thrust a hand back toward where the two Rashemi and the Thayan stood within the trees. The witch had kept close enough to hear but disdained joining them. Edwin had refused to stain his robes with grass.

Jaheira seemed to think about it for a moment, undoubtedly remembering just how effective their magicks had been in scattering the bandits that night. But it was Xan who spoke.

"They would burn the bridge."

The druid glanced at the Elf briefly, the mage not seeming quite so bothered by dirtying his own robes. She nodded her head quickly.

"And even if they did not, we could not risk having the place burn down around us. We still do not know just what we are looking for."

"Tazok," Evelyn supplied quickly enough. _And the man who killed Gorion_. Again, the druid nodded.

"He might very well be in there," she agreed. "But it would be wise to determine just what his connection with this place and the Iron Throne really is. Burning it down would accomplish little."

Evelyn only frowned to herself. So long as Tazok and the other were in there, she could care little if the whole place burned …

They lay in silence again then, still staring down to the fortified encampment below. There was a squat building to one side of it, and a broad tower on the other end atop what seemed to be a separate island in the moat. Both were surrounded by closely-knit spiked columns of wood though, a bridge spanning between them. And the entire area around the fort had been cleared of trees, leaving only butchered stumps in its wake. They could not have taken them by surprise.

"Seniyad said that they had built atop an old Dwarven mine," Jaheira was saying. "It is possible that they have excavated the tunnels underneath." But she left it at that.

After a time longer of watching, though, they could hardly have doubted her words. As they began to see large stores of crates and such being moved into the open space just inside the palisade, it became obvious that it could not have all just come from inside the two buildings. Bare-chested men would emerge from the far tower every so often, laden with more of whatever it was they kept in those large containers.

"They must have reopened the mines," the half-Elven woman breathed incredulously then. Evelyn could see her thoughts working fiercely behind her eyes, but she said nothing more to give them any hint. Instead she only gestured toward the far tower. "We should search whatever they have buried down there. We might just find some answers."

But no matter how long Evelyn kept her eyes fixed below, nothing but more guards emerged from the squat building inside the encampment. No half-Ogres. No armored demons. Just more guards. There were a few others dressed differently that seemed to mill around and survey the grounds every so often. But they did little to aid the guards in their vigil upon the walls or at the bridge. Jaheira eventually concluded that the building must have been nothing more than a barracks. They even had a small stable for horses beside it.

"Whatever they are doing here, I _doubt_ they have the backing of the Grand Dukes. The guards must be mercenaries." But that didn't discount just how dangerous it would be to attack them head on at the bridge. Even after several hours, they still had thought of nothing less dangerous than that.

When dusk finally started to approach, it seemed as if the druid would finally give up on discovering a more formidable plan. Evelyn's heart fell, but she hardly had any better ideas herself. And if the other woman could think of little, then she doubted that _she_ would have accomplished much more.

The other pulled back, rising to her knees and giving Evelyn a hard look. She did not have to hear the other woman speak to know the warning there in her eyes. Some of them would die, that much was almost certain. But there was nothing else they could do.

Evelyn started to stand, working the kinks out of her back quickly for lying down so long, before moving back and out of sight. But then someone suddenly spoke. It was Coran.

"I might have an idea …"

The Elf had kept quiet for most of their watch, blessedly so. Ajantis had joined them as well, though he had not dared to speak at all. Whenever Evelyn had glanced at the knight, he had pointedly avoided looking at her. But it was just as well – she had not spoken to either since last night.

But now she rounded on the Elf, giving him a hard look. He climbed slowly to his feet, a small smile creeping onto his face as he turned to face them. And then he _did_ smile, cocking his head to one side.

"You wouldn't happen to have any rope now … would you, sweetling?"

* * *

Evelyn stared down at the rope in her hands. Or rather, she stared down at the rope _binding_ her hands together. And then she glanced back up to the Elf. She spat into his face.

Coran swiped a hand at his cheek, giving her a bemused grin. The other hand held the end of the rope.

"Now just what was that for, sweetling?"

She glared up at him, trying to look as defiant as possible.

"For effect."

But the man only laughed, shaking his head. "I am sorry I destroyed your contribution then. But I think the guards will have quite enough already."

He was speaking of her bruises, of course. After they had bound her wrists firmly, Evelyn had argued that she hardly looked like a prisoner – at least one that had fought back. Coran had only contested that he could have easily convinced anyone that he had merely seduced her into submission, but Jaheira had seemed to agree with the young woman. At least, she had been the only one to volunteer to strike Evelyn across the face enough times to make it _seem_ as if she had been beaten. She had kept her thanks to herself.

She glanced up at Edwin who stood beside her, though, and wondered if he might have, had he thought he could get away with it. The wizard caught her eyes briefly, and she gave him as fierce a warning look as she could. He seemed to take it for what it was, and she hoped any thoughts that he might capitalize upon her being bound were stricken from his head. But the familiar sneer returned to his face.

"Come. We are wasting time."

Coran tugged at the rope, pulling her roughly along. She snapped the line back instantly, giving him a sharp look. He only laughed, and then continued on once more. It was actually quite slack between them, though. They would need it for later. And then they were starting down toward the encampment below.

It had not taken the Elf long to convince them of just how sound a plan his really was, only just until night had come on. He had gleaned that she was important to those men somehow – she remembered briefly that Peter had certainly pointed that out obviously enough – and that they might hopefully recognize her face. It would have been a simple thing then, to pretend her a captive and bring her into the camp with little bloodshed. If the guards could be fooled – and Coran thought himself the perfect one to do it – then they would hardly have to risk the lives of the others so foolishly. Jaheira and Evelyn both had been quick to agree, the latter only somewhat less eagerly.

But there was another good reason for just why the Elf would have been the one to do it. If they truly had been being watched, as the druid was certain they were, then it was very possible that whoever had been following them had warned his masters of Evelyn's companions as well. That certainly seemed to be the case from what she remembered Peter saying at the bridge. Coran was the only one who had not entered the forest with them.

She had remembered at one point as well while they bound her, that Peter had mentioned that he was told to expect _nine_ of them. And Coran would have made ten. It would have hardly helped deter her from being forced into that role, but it certainly did give her some assurance that it might very well work. Edwin was a risk, but a necessary one all the same. If they were found out, Jaheira had explained, then they were far better off with a sudden distraction to save their hides rather than hoping to pure luck. And a few choice explosions of fire could very well mean the difference between life and death. Edwin had hardly cared for the thought, or being included in such a risk, but one look from Evelyn had silenced him.

She might have demanded Dynaheir come with her instead, but she was somewhat more certain of the Thayan following her commands than the witch. And she also doubted that the Rashemi would have been parted from her guardian, and they could hardly have afforded to risk another. Besides, it was far more likely that the wizard would comply if truly threatened. And if he did die, well … as far as Evelyn was concerned, that was an acceptable loss.

They entered the open area surrounding the palisade then, and every doubt she had had about that endeavor suddenly crashed down on her full force. It was an effort to force them from her head and smooth her face. She replaced it just as quickly as she could with a look of desperation and anger instead. It wasn't very hard. She could feel enough fear slowly creeping into her skull at the thought of just what they might do, and anger as well as she glared at the Elf's back. Oh yes, it wasn't very hard at all.

The men on the walls trained them quickly with bows as they came into sight, but stayed their arrows for the moment. It was a good enough sign at least. It was very possible that they might have been ordered to kill anyone approaching the camp. Fortunately, they were probably used to bandits and other agents in the wood returning every so often, so Jaheira had said, so they would likely at least ask questions first. The guards on the bridge certainly eased no few anxious hands on blades at their sides. But they kept their swords at bay as well.

Coran strode out proudly onto the bridge, a broad grin on his face. If Evelyn had not known the truth of just what they were doing there, she might have even fallen for his ruse. He seemed nothing so much as if he had every right and reason to be there just now.

But the guards were somewhat less willing to agree.

"'Ere now, you just stay right there," one of the men warned the Elf as he neared, extending a sword between them. "Don't know what ya think yer doin', Elf, but this is a restricted area. So move along before we tan yer hides."

"Whaddya sayin', Bremen?" another spoke up instantly at the man's side. "If they've come this far than we can't just let them go!" But the first only narrowed his eyes at the other.

"Shut it, Marne!" He rounded back slowly on the others. "Now I'll give ya one chance to get outta here. I won't say it again."

"Oh, there's no need for that," Coran assured him with a generous cant of his head to one side. "I happen to be here on business."

"Oh ya?" the guard grunted, spitting down into the moat beneath the bridge. "And just what business would that be, Elf?"

Coran tugged hard on the line between him and Evelyn, pulling the latter toward him roughly. She even cried out in surprise and managed to stumble down to her knees on the wood. She leveled the man with an icy glare. It certainly came easily enough.

"Do you recognize this face, Captain?" Coran gestured down toward Eve as she slowly pulled herself back up. The man seemed not to scoff at the title, and it left Evelyn wondering just how the Elf had known the man's rank. It was hardly the time to ask him, though.

The captain squinted down at her, giving Coran a hard look. "Can't say I do, Elf."

"Well," Coran just flashed a smile back at him. It began to look a touch predatory. "Perhaps you should take a closer look."

His hand snatched down at the front of her tunic, hauling her roughly up between the two men so that the captain could get a better look at her. After a moment though, he still shook his head.

"I don't know what ye be about, Elf, but this game is growin' old. I gave ya yer warning. Now it's time ta–"

"Her name is Evelyn," Coran broke in quickly, almost irritably. He shoved her back behind him with a rough hand, sending Evelyn down on her back to the bridge. For her part, it was all she could do not to kick his legs out from under him … or aim just a little bit higher. She was sure he was playing that role a little _too_ well. The wizard smiled down at her.

The captain's words caught in his throat almost instantly. "Evelyn …" he breathed with sudden recognition then. "Now _that_ is a name I've heard recently."

The man peered down at her, a slow smile cracking his face. "Now I 'eard you've been causin' me employers a good deal of trouble, little one. Some say ye were provin' hard to catch … others, hard ta kill. I wonder why ya don't be lookin' so fierce now."

The Elf smiled beside him. "That's because she doesn't believe she has truly been caught."

"What?" the captain straightened, twisting back toward the Elf. But Coran only grinned all the wider.

"She doesn't believe she is really in any danger, my good Captain," he continued calmly. "The truth is … she agreed to have herself bound and made to look like my captive so that I could sneak her past your vigilant guard and into this encampment without risk. She was intent upon your masters here."

"What?" the captain repeated angrily, his eyes flashing from first one to the other. Evelyn could only stare wide-eyed in horror at the Elf just then. But the men around her were another story altogether. Swords were in hand almost instantly.

"What do you mean, Elf?" the man demanded, leveling the edge of his blade with Coran's neck. Those misty blue eyes held no trace of fear, however.

"Just what I said, Captain." The smile had never left his face for a moment. "Her companions had intended to send me in here holding the reins, and to grant her passage to your masters in order to kill them before any of you were the wiser. Unfortunately for her, though, I had no intention of doing anything of the sort."

Her mouth fell open, but she could hardly think of just what to say. Those blades around her moved hastily from the Elf toward her instead. For a moment she thought to struggle, to abandon that farce and just take the bridge then and there. But the other had abandoned it first. And there were too many. She started to shake.

She looked up into Coran's eyes … and all hope within her crumbled away into dust. He just grinned right back, and winked at her. There was no mistaking that look just then – it _was_ predatory.

"Why?" was all she could ask, the one word escaping her lips as barely more than a trembling breath. For all his unseemly glances and jokes at her expense, she had thought, somehow, that there had at least been some small grain of truth behind them – that maybe he had actually fancied her for some reason. But if she had thought that then … what he did next cast any thought of it instantly from her mind.

The back of his hand lashed out at the side of her face with blinding speed, striking her hard and sending her instantly back down to the wood below. He had paid no attention to the captain's blade at his throat, but the other man pulled the steel away. He took a step forward.

"Did you really think I knew nothing of the reward for your capture, sweetling?" he demanded harshly, smirking down at her. "Did you really think I would help you and endanger my life needlessly when I could simply turn you over for a handsome sum of gold?"

His eyes flashed briefly toward the captain. "I assume I'll be paid whatever bounty is on her head for finding her." He had not made it a question, but the guard nodded his head quickly nonetheless, grinning crookedly as well.

"Of course."

"Good."

Evelyn tasted blood in her mouth. She lay there on her stomach, her hands still bound beside her, feeling panic settle in. But she forced it aside instantly. And then there was only anger. She felt her blood begin to seethe.

Coran yanked the rope hard once more, hauling her back up in front of him. She bared her teeth at him.

There were too many …

"Now," the Elf uttered with a vicious grin, "where can I find my bounty?"

The guard captain took a step forward, reaching out for the tether that bound her. "Just give us the girl and we'll take her from here. I'm sure Davaeorn will send up the full price fer ya when he sees her face."

But Coran only pulled her closer.

"Not a chance," he warned, still smiling. "She's _my_ bounty, and I'll have the reward in person."

"I hardly think yer in a position to make demands, Elf," the captain rebuked swiftly, nodding toward the men behind him. Most of the others on duty had taken notice of the exchange taking place at the gates, and no few eyes studied them intently from the ramparts above. Evelyn glared balefully at each in turn.

As soon as she had her chance …

"Oh, I think otherwise, my good captain," Coran voiced quickly with a shake of his head. And then he cast back over his shoulder toward the wizard behind. "Edwin!"

The Thayan had been quiet until then, watching the scene with growing interest. If Evelyn had thought there any chance that he might prove true to his loyalty or fear of her just then … it was shattered quickly enough.

"Would you care for a little gold, my friend?" Coran was asking confidently of the other. He already knew what the man would say. Evelyn felt her heart sink just a little bit deeper, and her anger boil just that much more.

"You must mean _much_ gold, Elf," the Thayan smiled slowly back at him. "The wench can rot for all that I care. Yes … and perhaps burn a little too."

Coran glanced back toward the guards. "I would not stand in the man's way, my friends. He is a powerful wizard." A flash of fire from behind her seemed enough to convince them of just that as no few took a hasty step back.

The captain grated his teeth, but finally nodded. "Very well," he growled then. "Marne, Gren!" he barked with a fierce gesture to two men behind. "Take them down ta Davaeorn in the mines below. We'll see just what reward he gives them fer her head."

The two men pushed forward, and the guards parted before them to either side, sheathing their swords reluctantly. Coran pulled Evelyn close before him, her chin in his hand as he brushed his lips to her cheek.

"Yes, and I'm certain that the man will let me take another head from my sweetling first. I have been waiting for this for a _long_ time."

She twisted away instantly, spitting once more at the Elf and wishing desperately that she had a chance to do more. This time, though, she did not miss, and he swiped a hand to his eye, laughing. Then he forced her roughly back down into the bridge. But in another moment, she was back up again, and he started dragging her swiftly along in his wake.

"Come, Edwin … sweetling," he gestured briefly toward her. "I think it's time we all got our due."

The wizard only laughed quietly as he followed behind.

"Oh, and as for her companions," Coran suddenly spoke up back at the captain. "You'll find them–"

"NO!"

Evelyn shrieked, cutting him off. But before she could spin around and slam her bound wrists across his traitorous face, the Elf snatched her back with the rope, thrusting a dagger toward her throat. He wound the slack in the line quickly around her neck. She only had time enough to gasp before she couldn't breathe at all.

"You'll find them ahead along the path some several hundred paces, hiding amongst the trees," he continued as if nothing had happened. But Evelyn had stopped listening. "I suggest you take care of them before they come up with some new plan for breaking in." She was straining futilely against the ropes, unable to work her bound hands around them.

_No …_

The captain stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. He twisted around and started barking orders, gathering up a large group of men to go hunt down the others. Coran let the rope lax around her throat, and then released her, pushing her ahead of him.

"Let's hurry, sweetling. I can hardly wait."

She barely had time enough to resist just then as she racked her chest, desperate for air. It did not take her long to recover, but she did nothing, only followed. She could wait.

They passed through the encampment quickly, nothing but more guards in sight. The two that escorted them fanned out to either side, keeping a careful eye on the wizard and the Elf. They should have been keeping an eye on her.

Her thoughts grew deathly still. And there was calm. They passed over the bridge that spanned the two islands in the moat, passing quickly to the other side. All the while she kept her eyes ahead, quiet. She kept imagining the Elf's head in her hands, his neck snapping as she twisted. She was going to kill him, she vowed silently … she was going to kill him slowly and watch him die. For Imoen … for Jaheira … for all of them. For betraying them. But mostly for betraying _her_.

And then they were before the broad tower, a wooden ladder of steps leading up to a door in its side. All of the other guards were on the opposite end of the camp. It was just them.

She was going to kill them all.

Without warning, she struck. One booted foot flew up and wide in an arc to take the guard to her right in the face. Before Coran could pull the rope tight on her once more, she was yanking bodily on it herself, hauling him forward. She dropped down to one knee, and he tumbled over her back. The other guard managed to half-draw his sword before she leapt back up, whirling around with a boot to the side of his head. She continued through with the other hammering into his chest. He went down without a sound.

And then there was only Edwin.

The wizard took a step back, glancing quickly toward the fallen men on the ground. She stood without moving, staring him down.

"Untie these ropes, Edwin," was all she said, her voice cold as ice. Her eyes did not waver.

The Thayan looked hesitantly to the three men she had taken down in no more than a handful of moments once last time, his eyes wide. But then he was pushing forward, and fortunately, for his sake, she did not see his lips move other than to scowl. He worked quickly at the ropes binding her. And then she was free.

"I would have burnt them to ash, girl, if you had just waited until we were below," he told her as he pulled them away. She wasn't listening.

She rounded quickly on the fallen Elf … but he was standing now.

And then she was leaping toward him.

"Sweetling, sweetling!" He threw up his hands in warning.

She only paused for a moment, morbidly curious as to just what he might try to say before she killed him. But he wasn't smiling at her then.

"We don't have time to waste!"

He moved quickly past her, snatching up the ropes from the ground and sparing the fallen guards a brief glance. She watched him carefully, hardly afraid of just anything he might try to do. But he hurried then toward the ramparts on the palisade above, climbing up a ladder swiftly to reach them. She followed him with her eyes.

Calling down to the other side, a voice responded promptly, and then he was flinging the rope over the sharpened stakes. "I am sorry I improvised, sweetling," he whispered back down to her then, "but it had to be convincing!" He bound the other end of the line swiftly to a crossbeam of wood on the platform beneath him. When Khalid's head thrust into sight over the edge, Coran helped him navigate the sharpened ends quickly before jumping back down to the ground below.

"You told them the wrong direction," Evelyn voiced slowly, only then beginning to feel some of the bloodlust fade. She couldn't say she still didn't want to snap his neck between her hands just then, though. If nothing else, she owed him a few good blows in choice locations.

"Yes," the Elf agreed breathlessly. "And that will give us some time before they realize just what has happened. If they are sufficiently slow or stupid enough – all too likely given this first impression – then they might not even realize that this was all just a ruse."

"But you …"

"Lied, yes." He nodded his head quickly. "I never told you my actual plan. Your actions had to be convincing, sweetling, and I've found lies to be far easier to believe the closer they are to the truth. Besides, your acting could use some work."

Imoen was on the ramparts above, as well as Jaheira and Ajantis. Her best friend was scrunching her face up at the others.

"That was disgusting! Do you have any idea what was in that water?"

Each of them was soaked, having swum across the moat to get to the palisade on the far side. It was another reason why Edwin had been a better choice than Dynaheir. He had refused to enter the moat. Evelyn had a good idea of just what the guards did in there.

"My acting …?" She frowned at the Elf. She thought she had done rather well given the circumstances …

But Coran was looking quickly once more up to the others, watching as Xan and Dynaheir soon joined them. Minsc was not far behind, though the rope threatened to buckle under his weight.

"It's too bad about untying you though, sweetling," the Elf flashed her a quick smile and a wink. "We might have had some fun." But then he was pushing past her, scaling the ladder toward the tower door.

"Hurry! We've precious little time to waste!" He thrust a hand down toward her.

She hesitated only a moment before taking it.


	40. Chapter 4 Into the Deep

_**Into the Deep**_

"We know who we are looking for now at least. Someone named Davaeorn."

Evelyn glanced quickly at the Elf, feeling memory tug at the back of her head. She had heard that name before.

Inside the tower was a small room. A table stood in the center, cards scattered around on its surface as well as empty mugs, lanterns hanging from beams in the wooden walls. A staircase led downwards on the far side.

Coran fixed his eyes swiftly on those stairs, taking a deep breath.

"Life is adventure, or nothing," he whispered, half to himself. And then he rounded briefly on her. "Wouldn't you agree, sweetling?"

He was still pulling her along by the hand, and started moving toward the stairs without another word. But she snapped him back toward her instantly, spinning him around to face her. Before the smile could even jump to his lips at that sudden closeness, she fisted him hard beneath the ribs.

The man went down with a gasp, catching himself at his knees. He continued there for a moment, grimacing and shaking as he thrust a hand protectively across his stomach. He glanced up toward her.

"That was for …," she stabbed a hand angrily behind her, "that was for … THAT!"

And so much more.

Coran stared up at her, his eyes glazed. Then he looked quickly away, struggling against the wood beneath. She had to resist the impulse to put another boot to his face. Her anger was hardly for just what he had done in the past few minutes alone.

Jaheira was thrusting into view then, standing up from the ladder behind them and stepping inside. She looked from the Elf on the floor to Evelyn, her face smooth. But then she thought she caught just a hint of a smile.

Khalid was up and inside next, Imoen and Xan following soon after. They all quickly piled into the room, Minsc at the last and shaking the wooden ladder with his heavy steps. Coran was standing slowly.

"My apologies, sweetling," he managed, his voice strained. "A woman of your peculiar sensibilities seemed as if she might like some things just a little more rough." With a hand pressing gingerly into his stomach, he nodded slowly to himself. "I certainly don't think I was wrong." But then he was turning away. "We must be quick."

They were flying down the stairs, Coran in the lead, but there was little in the space below. A small landing branched off to one side onto a wooden platform, a large steel wheel standing to its side. There was some kind of metal chain wrapped around it and handles along its length.

"It's some kind of pulley," Jaheira mused aloud as she caught sight of it. She glanced past it toward the platform. The two seemed to be connected by whatever the wheel fed into as it stretched away inside the wall, and Evelyn could see more chains attached to the platform.

"It must be how they are getting the ore up from the mines," Coran agreed quickly, testing the wooden platform with a foot. It seemed to hold. "Come."

"Can it hold us all?" Evelyn demanded suspiciously, though. The other only flashed her a grin.

"We shall certainly see, sweetling."

After a moment, she pushed forward as well. If the thing could carry heavy crates of ore, then it could certainly carry at least most of them.

Dynaheir was standing beside the druid at the wheel, the other woman speaking to her. "Minsc," the witch called back over her shoulder, and then the druid was stepping away and onto the platform with her husband in tow. The giant Rashemi moved up swiftly to her side and, after a moment, had his hands firmly on the steel wheel.

Imoen and Xan were crowding onto the thing with them then, the former keeping her breath steady while the latter only eyed the machinery with no small measure of doubt in his eyes. He said nothing though, and then Ajantis was stepping up before her.

"I kept this for you," the knight said simply, extending the ashwood staff in one hand. Evelyn gave her best friend a quick look – she had entrusted it to _her_ – but Imoen only shrugged. She took it from the man, but said nothing. She turned away.

Edwin was pressing in on them, muttering loudly about being jostled by barbarians, and then the Rashemi witch was with them too. Only Minsc remained off the platform.

Without warning, the giant of a man started turning the wheel, his large hands straining against it as he bared his teeth with the effort. Before long he vanished from sight as they plunged downward, stone closing around them. Only the light of the tunnel above gleaming farther and farther away allowed them to see.

"How deep does it go?" Imoen asked abruptly then after a stretch of anxious silence. But the platform suddenly struck bottom, shaking roughly. The other woman turned hurriedly away.

Khalid was first into the dark tunnel beyond, Coran on his heels. And then Evelyn was striding out beside Jaheira, staves in hand. No one seemed to be in sight just then, though.

The two men moved quickly to a like wheel jutting out from the wall just inside the tunnel. After everyone had poured off the platform, they had it swiftly sailing back up into the shaft. It took both of them, but they slowed the turning wheel enough not to drop the Rashemi as he followed them down. And finally, Minsc was hurrying off as well.

"Let's go."

Evelyn took up stride at the lead, pressing on along the dark tunnel. Something jutted out from beneath her feet, nearly causing her to trip. It only took her a moment more to realize just what it was. As lanterns poured light in around them around a bend in the tunnel, she could see easily the rail stretching on beneath them.

There was no one in sight as they hurried on into a large open space first, more tunnels winding away in every direction. Mining carts were scattered everywhere, half-filled with ore with pickaxes close by. Some of the lanterns were burned out, and those that still did burn were running low. Whatever work had been done there, everyone had seemingly moved on to sleep for the night. It was all the better for them.

They stood there for a moment, Evelyn twisting first one way and then another. No tunnel seemed all that different from any other. And they were running out of time.

"Which way do we go?" Imoen demanded aloud. Jaheira only frowned, glancing about, and Edwin scowled at both of them. Minsc had his sword ready from behind.

"Wait!" Coran hissed at them, throwing an arm back. "Listen!"

He did not move, and neither did anyone else. But Evelyn could hardly hear anything. Xan seemed to understand just what the other Elf was talking abou, however. In another moment, they could hear voices.

There were footsteps, and then two guards came into sight from a tunnel to the south.

"And then I kicked him in the head until he was dead!" one of the men was saying to the other, wrapped in stout leathers. But the man beside him only growled right back.

"Ye shut yer flamin' hole, Fargot! 'Twas me dagger through his neck that killed the bastard! And I'll have ya know I got twice as good the … BLOODY HELLS!"

Two daggers took the man in leathers in the chest and the eye, sending him straight down into the rocky ground. The one beside him had just enough time to pull free his sword before a flash of light sent him sprawling backwards into the tunnel.

Xan lowered his hand, and Imoen and Coran both hurried to retrieve their respective daggers. "Those are quite the ready hands you have there, sugarplum," the Elf said with an appreciative eye as the pink-haired woman slipped her knife back up into her coat. He winked at her briefly, and Imoen smiled right back.

"Faster than yours," she told him quickly before twisting away. Coran's eyebrows flashed upwards with a grin.

Evelyn had the second man by the front of his metal links, pulling his face up toward hers. "Where's Davaeorn?" she hissed at him, "where's Tazok?" But the man's head only bobbed, his eyes fluttering.

"Come, sweetling!" Coran called back at her as he hurried on ahead into the tunnel. "My instincts tell me he's this way …"

His voice trailed off as he vanished around the bend. She was quick on his heels.

The stone descended lower before them as they half-ran, half-crept through the dim light down into whatever lay beyond. A room snuck up on them quickly, and another guard had only enough time to throw himself up from the table he had been sitting at before Jaheira had flown ahead and cracked him across the skull with her staff. He tumbled over the table and to the floor with a sharp cry.

"This way!" Coran was darting once more along another passage and away.

Another man leapt up at the sight of them as they burst into what seemed to be an armory, snatching the bow that lay across his shoulder into hand. Before he could fit an arrow to the string, however, another flash of light from Xan's outstretched hands sent him hurtling away into the gloom.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Coran hissed at them quickly in warning, throwing up both arms to keep Evelyn and Khalid from leaping ahead. There was another passage leading south, and she could faintly hear the sounds of more voices coming from it.

"There are a good many ahead," the Elf told them quietly, frowning. Xan only nodded his head from behind. He pulled free that blue-silver blade.

"As impossible a set of odds as any."

Minsc started to move ahead, massive blade in hand, but Dynaheir caught him by the arm. And then Evelyn was twisting back around.

"Edwin."

* * *

Almost a dozen men in stout mail, swords at their sides or leaning close against the wall as well as shields, sat around the large room, eating, drinking, and laughing. Food and ale was scattered at tables all around, and one man was roughly pulling off his chain armor to throw it against a wall before another man slapped him on the back, making a joke. And then a woman in thick robes was striding purposefully into the midst of it all, two hard-faced guards at her side.

The woman, dark-haired and cool-eyed, cast her icy gaze around the room. She fixed on one man at the tables.

"Sergeant Flanagan!" she barked of a sudden, and the man suddenly leapt unsteadily to his feet. He slammed a fist to his heart, blinking at her in surprise.

"Ay … milady Hareishan?"

"Where are your men on duty, Sergeant?" the woman snapped at him. "The Master would have his shift report _now_!"

"Ay, yes … milady Hareishan." The sergeant snapped his fingers, gesturing abruptly at two more of his men. They scowled, but leapt to their feet, snatching up swords from against the bench they had been sitting on. And then they made for the other end of the room.

Before the two could reach the shallow steps that led up into the squared passage beyond, someone leapt around the corner and into view. A grin spread across his bearded face. And then he was muttering under his breath.

"Who the blazes are _you_?" one of the guards demanded, hand to hilt. But then the man was thrusting both hands forth. A ball of fire leapt from them and into the air.

The fireball hissed through both men, causing them to twist around in surprise to follow it with their eyes. It hurtled straight toward the robed woman, her eyes going wide. It was the last thing they saw before her body exploded in flames. And then the whole room was exploding in flames, as men went screaming against the walls.

The two men closest to Edwin were thrown clear into the air and toward him, but the wizard had already ducked back behind the bend in the passage. The guards slammed hard against the stone at the far end, and tumbled down to the floor. And then Evelyn was leaping over them and into the room.

Flames licked everywhere at broken furniture and what remained of the mercenaries dinner. Men were scattered everywhere too, more often than not mere burned husks or smatterings of ash that hardly threatened anymore. Imoen swallowed hard from behind her best friend as she glanced quickly around. Dynaheir only gave the wizard an unreadable look. The Thayan grinned right back at her.

Ajantis was suddenly at their fore, Khalid beside him as they both tore ahead into the rooms beyond. Before they could, however, the silence suddenly erupted in a series of shouts that had Evelyn whipping her staff about in surprise. They were not battle cries or threats, though. As she moved hurriedly after the two men in the room beyond, she saw them standing before a large wooden door. Men were shouting at them from the other side.

It was hard to make out just what was being said on the other side of that door – too many voices were shouting at once. But it seemed as if they were all panicking at the smell of smoke and the sounds of explosions and screaming in the rooms beyond. Evelyn gave Jaheira a sidelong glance as the woman came up beside her. And then one voice was tearing through the rest.

"By the Father of all Battles … who be out there making such a ruckus!"

No one said anything just then, the chamber silent but for the shouting men beyond. They seemed to quiet after a few more moments, though. But then Evelyn was starting forward, coming close to the door. "Who are you?" she called out tentatively.

There was an abrupt bang on the wood, and Evelyn jumped back in surprise.

"I be Yeslick Orothiar ye blasted mercenary scum! Come in here if ye forgotten me face already!"

Coran gave her an eye, but she ignored it. Both men flanked her as she faced the door.

"What are you doing in there?" she continued, putting more strength into her voice. The angry bark she got in response only dented it a little.

"What in the Hells do ye think we be doing in here, ya bloody swill-head! We be waitin' for ye flaming louts to herd us back to work!"

"We don't have time for this," Coran was muttering then.

"These men must be the miners!" Ajantis whispered fiercely at her side. She only gave him a brief glance before turning back toward the door.

"Whatever they are doing down here, I cannot imagine any need to lock them up for the night," Jaheira remarked from behind. "The guards must be forcing them to work. It would certainly explain why there are so many. They could hardly need so much protection for a place they seem to be trying to keep secret."

Evelyn canted her head toward the knight without another thought.

"Open it."

The man did not hesitate, the same conviction in his dark eyes as he reached toward the handle. But it did not budge. Coran only reached to one side, pulling a key ring from a peg on the wall and holding it before the other man.

"These might be helpful, dear knight."

Ajantis scowled at him, but snatched the keys from his hand. And then he was working them into the lock upon the door. In another moment, it was swinging open.

Men came spilling out, bare-chested and bare-legged, in little more than clothes enough to cover their shame. They came up short, however, blinking ahead at those beyond the door in surprise. A Dwarf scowled out at their front.

"Well, Clangeddin Silverbeard bless me eyes!" the little man was grunting in awe. He took a step forward. "You don't look like any of Davaeorn's barrel-brained scum to me …"

His hair was long and broad, a beard braided in four tendrils sported on the edge of his chin. The rest of him, however, just like the others behind, was bare, grimy, and sparse for any meat on his bones at all. It seemed very much as if those men had been all but starved.

"No, we are not," Jaheira uttered flatly.

"I don't know who ye be," the Dwarf shook his bearded head, grinning broadly of a sudden then, "but I'm glad to see you nonetheless. And if you be against the Throne you've my best blessings."

"We must hurry!" Coran hissed in warning. He hurried toward a flight of stone steps that descended below, putting his ear to the passage. Evelyn rounded on the Dwarf.

"Don't worry, lass," the other broke in before she could speak. "If ye don't mind freeing us, we can find our own way out and back to the surface."

"But the guards …"

The little man only grunted, shaking his burly head. "There be weapons enough around here somewhere. We'll do what we must."

"I'd rather fight my way out than rot a moment longer in this hole!" another of the miners was growling from behind the Dwarf.

"Die wit' a blade or a spear in me hand … I'd even give a few more smacks wit' me pickax if it meant a taste of fresh air …"

"Alright," was all Evelyn said, nodding her head. And then the Dwarf was pushing past her toward the room behind.

"Come on, lads! Time to show them bloody bastards what fight ye still got in ya!" He was echoed by a chorus of shouting and hurrahs, all of the men charging ahead and through the group that had freed them. Evelyn only hoped they found the armory first.

Without another word, Coran was flying down into the passage below.

* * *

The Elf came up short of a sudden, nearly falling over backwards, but Evelyn slammed into him from behind. And then Imoen joined the fray. It was a miracle that they did not collapse suddenly forward.

Four heads turned abruptly toward them from where four guards had been sitting at a table, quietly eating their meal. One of them scrubbed at his face with a dirty rag, another merely raised an eyebrow at them.

"Can I help you?" one of them calmly asked the three.

Ajantis and Khalid were in sight beside them, Minsc hurrying down the steps with Dynaheir at his side. Jaheira, Edwin, and Xan were not far behind.

"Why didn't you hear them?" Evelyn hissed at the Elf before her angrily. Coran scowled back at her.

"Forgive me, sweetling, for thinking all mercenaries loud and brash!"

"What is the meaning of this?" another of the guards demanded then, climbing to his feet.

"What good are those ears for anyways …," Imoen muttered from behind.

"Many more pleasant things, I assure you–"

Short bow suddenly in hand, Coran let an arrow sail into the man who had stood without another word. He grunted as the thing took him in the chest, and then slowly collapsed back down to the ground, scrabbling at his chair. The three others were leaping to their feet as well, blades screaming free.

Ajantis and Khalid were already moving, though, the giant Rashemi howling past them as well. In a few moments, two more men lay bleeding on the floor, a third in two separate pieces. Evelyn pressed on through.

Voices sounded on their right of a sudden, low and guttural, and Evelyn glanced aside to see shadows flitting in the passage beyond. Without a second thought, Dynaheir threw up her hands, chanting under her breath. A ball of flames flew forward, screaming through into the other hall. The others were already hurrying on into the next room as the last burst into flames. The Hathran paused long enough only to match Edwin's scowl with a small grin of her own.

A long hallway stretched before them, lanterns twinkling in the dim light all along its length. Khalid charged forward at their head, his wife only just behind.

"Where are we going?" Evelyn cried out ahead at them, but it was Coran who answered at her side.

"As deep as we can, sweetling!" he called above the frantic sounds of their footfalls. "Until the bodies stop throwing themselves in our wake!"

"But what about Davaeorn? We don't know where he is!"

"Good point, sweetling!"

They burst out into another room, two more guards waiting for them in the small space. Those two had been wary enough at the sounds of explosions that they must have easily heard from even so far away, and had swords in hand.

"What the devil is going on up there?" one of the men cried angrily, but then Khalid's scimitar was slicing open his neck. Jaheira took the other in the chest, sending him sprawling. Before she could deliver a fatal blow, however, Coran was leaping over a table and slamming down into the man.

"Wait!" he hissed in warning at the druid. She stayed her hands swiftly, giving him a hard eye, but seemed to understand his intent.

"We cannot keep running blindly," she told the other with a nod of her head. "They will have either discovered us by now or will soon enough. This cannot all have gone unnoticed." The Elf only turned back toward the man beneath him.

"Where is Davaeorn?"

The man only grunted, casting the Elf a fierce eye. And then Coran had a dagger pressed to his throat.

"Where is he?"

The man winced, his gaze flashing toward the steel. It pricked just a little bit deeper into his flesh.

"Gah!" he gasped. "There!" he gestured with his eyes beyond the Elf atop him. "Through that room and south toward the stairs!"

Coran leapt back up, giving the man a mock salute before turning away toward the passageway he had eyed on the opposite side of the chamber. Jaheira finished her work swiftly. Evelyn turned away at the crunch of bone.

The Elf marched on hurriedly through the door to the passage beyond. There was another room just as the man had said, abandoned tables scattered about with a large oven tucked against one side. Evelyn was close on his heels as he moved quickly to the south end of the chamber toward another passage. Just as he reached the opening, however, he abruptly flew off his feet.

Coran sailed through the air, crashing down hard a half-dozen paces behind. Evelyn looked up quickly, but then something struck her as well, sending her tumbling aside.

"My Lady!"

Ajantis rushed forward then, throwing his shield up before him. Something struck hard against the dented steel, and he grunted against the blow. But there was nothing standing before him … only empty space. And then the knight was flying over his feet and onto his back.

"Khalid!"

Jaheira shouted in warning, but the half-Elven man was spinning in like a whirlwind in the next moment, slicing with both scimitars at the empty air before where the knight had been. Something grunted, crying out, and blood suddenly spilled to the stone floor below.

Whatever the thing was … it flashed into sight then, or seemed to. A greenish, lumpy face appeared above the half-Elf, Evelyn recovering enough in that moment to stare up in awe from where she lay against the ground. Long black fangs dangled from out of a wide mouth, baring down on Khalid in anger as it growled. And then the half-Elf was hurtling over and away as well, as the thing slammed an arm bulging with muscle into him. It straightened, the rest of it coming slowly into view from nothingness.

"So … intruders, is it?" the thing boomed down at them in a gravelly voice, standing easily head and shoulders above even Minsc. Two black eyes with white pupils swept across them quickly. "Whatever you have come here for, mortals, you will not reach the Master of the Mines below. It is time for you to die."

The thing raised its hands, sheathed in loose, gaudy robes that fell away to reveal sharp black claws protruding from its fingers. It started chanting loudly, the sound unhurried and filling the chamber. Xan's hand was up almost instantly.

Light flared as the Elf hissed under his breath, throwing it at the beast's face. The thing grunted, took a step back, and then growled down at the little man.

"Kill it quickly! Before it looses its magicks!" He was leaping forward then, blue blade in hand.

Evelyn leapt to her feet, but Jaheira jumped over her first. A knife flew threw the air, one of those large, bluish hands warding it aside easily as if it were nothing. Dynaheir and Edwin were both shouting somewhere from behind, and the air in the room began to tense. Evelyn felt her hair stand on end.

She realized just then how much like the Ogres that had attacked her and Gorion that night the thing seemed, though its face was somewhat smoother and more focused. Not to mention blue. She took her staff in hand, watching briefly as Xan swept in on the beast with his blade. He did not last long before the thing was casting him aside as well.

Jaheira did not last much longer, but she had sense enough then to keep out of the monster's reach and distract it while the Rashemi and the Thayan continued shouting behind her. And then fire and light were flying toward the thing, tearing through its bright robes to the flesh beneath. It did little to stop the beast though, and it swept one mighty arm toward the druid before rounding on the two.

"So … you wish to play magicks, little mortals." It lifted a clawed hand, a swirling vortex of light forming within it.

"Minsc!"

The hand fell, and the whirling ball of energy hurtled toward them.

And then everything in the room exploded.

All of the furniture burst into pieces, fading into a colorless mass as smoke and dust and fire filled the air. The wind howled, and everyone faded from sight as Evelyn felt her eyes suddenly haze over. She stumbled backward. But in one single moment, nothing made sense anymore.

Evelyn had her staff in hand, not sure just where to swing it then. She tried desperately to keep the gray inferno from her, sweeping it out of her way. There was no direction. There was no up or down or side to side. She couldn't see any of the others. The only sound she heard was the hollow laughter of the beast, thundering in her ears.

Something darted through the formless mist, snaking an arm around her. She tried to swing the ashwood around to take it, but it latched onto her arm, pulling her from her feet. And then they were tearing through into the next room.

Everything exploded into color and indistinct shapes, and she couldn't even begin to make out half of it. All she could do was feel her feet on hard stone and panic start to set in. She was going mad!

That thing still held tightly onto her arm, though, keeping her from using her staff. She tried to struggle, getting ready to slam a fist as hard as she could into it. But then a voice was tearing through the madness, soft and insistent.

"Close your eyes, sweetling."

It was Coran, or at least she thought it was. She only hesitated for a moment before doing as he said.

She wondered, briefly, just what he meant for her to do by that. But then sound began to return, slowly but surely. She didn't feel as if she was spinning quite so much anymore. Her eyes eventually stopped burning.

She opened them again, hearing the distinct sounds of battle coming from the room behind. Blinking rapidly, the colors and formless shapes faded from her sight … and then she saw the beast still absorbed in the melee beyond. She glanced up at the Elf still holding her.

"An Ogre Mage," he told her then as if it should mean something. Maybe it did. "The confusion will pass, sweetling," he added after another moment.

She looked back toward the room. Xan was still fighting, as was Edwin, casting fire from his hands at the beast with a fierce cry. Dynaheir lay on the ground, breathing hard, and Imoen was wandering around looking dazed. Ajantis had gotten back to his knees, and so had Khalid, but neither of them seemed to see the monster stepping through their midst. Jaheira was nowhere to be seen.

She tore away from the Elf, but he hauled her roughly back.

"Wait!"

And then more light flashed from the Ogre Mage's hands, sending the Red Wizard flying out of sight. Xan sliced deep into the thing's thigh, but it forced him away with a grunt. It fell down to one knee, growling, while more blood spilled out onto the floor. And then Minsc was before it, the blade gone from his hands.

The giant Rashemi wrapped his large fingers around the beast's thick neck, the Ogre's black eyes now almost on level with the other man. They grappled there for a moment, both baring their teeth. Before the beast could do anything more, though, blue steel suddenly erupted through its chest.

The thing grunted, shaking Minsc one final time with its blue clawed hands and leaving bloody holes dotting the Rashemi's neck. And then it collapsed down slowly to the floor. It did not move again.

Coran could not hold her back any longer.

Jaheira was pushing into view, picking herself up swiftly from the floor. With only a brief glance toward the dead Ogre Mage and the others around her, she finally settled on Evelyn as she came up fast before them. The druid shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly, and then started forward.

"Hurry! We have little time!" she growled in warning, her voice shaking just a little.

She stumbled forward, her husband coming up quick at her side to steady her. Evelyn snatched Imoen, pulling her out of her daze. And then the others were slowly getting back to their feet. It seemed as if they could all walk at least.

Coran turned away without a word, continuing as he had begun into the other room. Evelyn pulled her best friend along behind. They were running out of time, and it would not be long before they might be found out and overwhelmed. They had to find Davaeorn, and Tazok, and the armored man. They had to finish this before it finished them. That was all that mattered.

And as they came to the stone steps that the guard had spoken of, stretching down even further into the deep of the mines, Evelyn suddenly felt her blood begin to seethe once more. Whatever the others thought about what they would do just then, killing her father's murderer was all that mattered.

Clutching her staff tightly in hand, Evelyn started down.


	41. Chapter 4 The Abyss

The Abyss

_**The Abyss**_

"Wait! … Just, just … wait …"

Evelyn rounded instantly back upon the voice, only to catch sight of Jaheira's fierce eyes pleading with her own. She frowned.

"No. They are down there. I can feel it."

"Evelyn!" the other woman cried at her harshly. She took a hard breath. "We must stop. Just for a moment." She was clinging desperately to her husband. "Just for a moment …"

Evelyn hadn't seen just what the Ogre Mage might have done to the other woman, but she shook her head slowly, the blood thundering in her ears. She could feel something slipping free. They had to reach them before it was too late. They had to kill them _now_.

Jaheira squeezed her eyes shut.

"P-please, Evelyn."

She glanced up toward Khalid, not feeling the deadly ice burning in her dark eyes then. And then she looked to Imoen, and Xan, and Ajantis. They were all staring at her. Her best friend looked terrified. For a moment, she couldn't see just of what.

"They are right, Evelyn," Xan told her quietly. "We cannot rush foolishly in before we are prepared to face our doom." Those brown eyes were heavy on her own.

Coran was glancing from one to the other, not speaking a word. Even Edwin looked haggard, though he hid it behind a scowl. Minsc was still bleeding around the neck.

"Alright," she muttered at the last, turning away. Her voice was as dead as the corpses they had left behind them.

It seemed to take an eternity, whatever the druid did then. Evelyn could hear her speaking softly behind her. She knew it must be some kind of healing. She had not seen what had been done to her, but she hoped the other woman could right herself. They had come too far to fail now. They had come too far for nothing.

Her blood was pounding in her veins. She could feel it waiting for blood. She had not shed a drop yet in that place … She was saving it for the ones below.

She would go on alone if she had to.

"Sweetling …"

The Elf raised a hand to her shoulder from behind on the stairs, but she twisted to face him instantly. He paused with his hand in midair, and almost took a step back. He let it fall, as well as whatever he was going to say then. Instead he turned and followed her gaze then down the dark stairwell to whatever lay below.

"We must find whatever answers you need quickly," was all he said, straightening. "If we are to do as we agreed upon, we must leave as soon as possible. I can only imagine that the run back up will be bloodier than coming down. Their stupidity will not last long once they find the trail of bodies leading straight to _us_."

She was barely listening. Instead she was staring intently ahead and down into the dark, feeling that strange rush flow through her. She would have his blood tonight. She was sure of it.

It was all too long before Jaheira was striding down to join her, far more strength in her stance now than mere moments before. Evelyn hardly cared just what she had done. Only that she was ready now … that was all that mattered.

The other woman didn't look at her, merely standing there with her staff in hand.

"For Gorion," she declared softly, eyes fixed in the dark.

"For me."

But the others didn't hear her.

She started down once more.

As they reached the bottom of the stone steps, it was silent. Neither Coran nor Xan gave her any sign that there was anyone below. And when the man in full plated armor suddenly stood from a small table at the sight of them, it came as a surprise. But Evelyn hardly blinked.

They moved into a small room, Evelyn at their lead. The man strode up to meet them, long sword in hand, a shield strapped across his back. She didn't stop.

"The bunch of you better have a good reason for being here," the man growled at them in warning, lifting the sword. Everyone behind her fell away, hefting their own weapons in hand.

"You might as well surrender," Coran warned the man right back, training an arrow on him. His tone was casual, but not without a hard edge. The man hardly paid him any heed. Evelyn was still walking forward.

"No one sees Davaeorn without going through me!" the man hissed. "No one!" Coran only shook his head ruefully. But Evelyn had not stopped.

"Back girl!" the plated man barked at her then. "Or so help me I'll–"

He had thrust one hand out to stay her, but she snatched it easily at the wrist, twisting it away. He cried out in sudden agony as his arm broke. And then he swung his sword toward her head. She ducked easily beneath it, spinning around and thrusting a hand toward his neck. It stabbed deep with a sudden crunch, and the man gagged. He fell to his knees, the blade tumbling from his hand as his eyes went wide. And then she had his head between her hands. It snapped all too easily between them.

She felt the man's life, beating bright like a beacon before her. And then it was gone, as he collapsed down into the stone. Her blood was all but hissing in delight. She hardly missed a step as she continued over and past him.

The others were close on her heels, but she didn't notice them. All she could hear was the blood thumping in her ears, beating against her chest, and dancing in her veins.

Corridors branched off to either side, revealing rooms all along the central hall she walked. But she didn't see them. All she could see just then, as she walked slowly toward the center of that hole … was the old man standing right in her way.

They were in some kind of parlor, a book shelf to one side, a couch to the other. She didn't look at them. There were books littered all over, as well as scrolls and various odds and ends scattered across a table. The old man didn't look at them either. His hard blue eyes were like ice, and fixed solely on _her_.

He was dressed in elegant black robes with golden trim, flowing down his form and brushing lightly against the carpeted stone beneath. There was no weakness about him. The well-muscled frame beneath those garments was difficult to miss, especially to her. His life burned brilliantly before her like a flame. It might have blinded her, but her eyes were dark.

She stopped several paces away from him. He waited for her to. And then he reached one hand up to stroke his bearded chin, a long trail of white flowing away down against his chest. He cocked his head to one side curiously.

"Ah," he breathed in muted amazement, his voice rough, soft and fluid. It was barely more than a trickle of water, and yet stronger than the tide. "So stoic adventurers have found their way down to my lair." There was just the slightest hint of an accent on his tongue, something she didn't know.

He was not afraid. Even when she could sense the nine others catching up behind her, he was not afraid. He merely studied them all in turn with those frozen eyes, daggers of ice dissecting them each from across the chamber.

"Why have you come?" he demanded softly then. "Is it to steal my riches?" He swept that glacial gaze back across them. "Or perhaps you seek to righteously punish me for my affront to your morality. It matters little," he concluded gently, "for you will do neither. But before I dispose of you in some horribly gruesome manner … perhaps I should introduce myself." He flicked his long beard. "I am known as Davaeorn. I would ask you for your names," his gaze came back to Evelyn then, hard, "but I care little to become acquainted with the dead."

"Where is Tazok?" was all she asked in return. She did not waver. Her blood would not let her … though it suddenly threatened to rend her apart where she stood.

"Tazok?" the old man seemed amused at that. "Now why would you be looking for _that_ mindless brute …?"

She could almost touch that candle burning so bright before her … it was so vivid, so challenging … her lips moved almost on their own.

"He had my father killed," came her voice slowly, as frozen as the other's eyes. "His man in black armor took the life of Gorion of Candlekeep." Had she spoken quickly enough, she was sure that the air before her would have turned to ice.

The old man's eyes widened somewhat at that, but it was not in shock. It was in surprise … pleasant surprise. He started laughing then, his voice reaching higher and higher, almost fevered as it echoed around her. His white crested head tilted slowly back … and then it subsided. The smile he turned on her in that next moment could have cracked stone.

"So you are the girl that Sarevok has been so desperate to kill …" He studied her with newfound curiosity, and amusement. "Evelyn."

She lowered her eyes on him, narrowing … but said nothing.

"If you think that half-Ogre swine the one behind your father's death … then you are a fool." He cocked his bearded head slowly to one side. "There is only _one_ man who has ever cared to end your life, and that is Sarevok Anchev. Tazok is _his_ minion."

Her own eyes went wide, but the blood still sang strong in her veins. It still wanted blood.

"Where is he then?" she demanded slowly. "Where is Sarevok?" But the other only laughed anew.

"You are a very silly, little girl to have come this far. This place will be your tomb, as it was that of the foolish Dwarves who built it. Sarevok will be happy to know of your death, and I will give your head to his father. Your time in this world … is done."

Before she could do anything, before _anyone_ could do anything. The man was gone. Throwing his hands wide and bellowing a word at them, it was as if the space behind him suddenly opened up and swallowed him whole. And then Evelyn was staring at nothing … but the empty carpets where he had been.

For a moment … no one moved. No one breathed. And there was no sound. Silence stretched on in the empty chamber.

Evelyn stepped forward, stopping just where the man should have been. Her blood was still thundering inside of her – so loud that she was sure the others must hear it. But there was no sound … only quiet.

Coran moved up beside her.

"Where is he, sweetling?" he whispered at her side, his eyes flashing about. "You're enemy did not just speak as if he meant to flee." But she wasn't listening. She could still feel that life burning bright.

She turned slowly around.

There was a sound … like a clap of thunder. It was deafening, but the hissing in her veins still drowned it out. And then light was flashing behind them – behind the others. It tore through them like a knife, screaming through the passage. And then she saw Davaeorn, back before the stairwell from which they had come.

Dynaheir suddenly cried out, and Minsc snatched the witch up only to end up howling beside her as well. Edwin flew to one side, and so did the two Rashemi, slamming hard into the stone. The light leapt to Jaheira and Khalid without pause, seeming as if it came from them … and then they went down. Imoen tumbled over, and Xan collapsed. Ajantis' shield exploded in a flash, and then pinned him to the stone. It struck Evelyn last.

The light screamed toward her in a stream, hammering into her stomach. She sailed back and through the air, silently hurtling away from the chamber. She didn't even scream.

Coran pulled the bow from his shoulder, firing an arrow toward the old man at the other end of the hall. A withered hand thrust out from his robes, striking at the thing as it neared. It snapped, hurtling back over his head. And then that hand stabbed forward, light flaring toward the Elf. He only just leapt aside before it swept his head from his shoulders.

Everyone was howling then, it seemed, scrabbling against the stone. But Minsc was suddenly back on his feet, and so was Xan, the massive Rashemi charging toward the old man behind. Xan threw a hand forward, sending more light flying toward those black robes. But Davaeorn swept his arms wide once more … and the air swallowed him back.

Minsc cast around for a few moments, massive blade in hand. But the old man was nowhere to be seen. And then some of the others were back on their feet, Khalid hauling Jaheira back to hers even as Ajantis pulled free the sword at his side with a howl of rage. He rounded instantly on where Evelyn had been and Coran was just then coming to stand, and barreled forward.

"My Lady Evelyn!"

The knight tore through the chamber at a dead run, crying out as he made for the passage she had disappeared to beyond. Before he could, however, a black-robed form was stepping into his path. And then the knight was bringing his long blade around with a fierce cry. More light flashed toward him, caught his shield, and sent him hurtling back into the air.

Coran had another arrow readied and loosed, but the old man merely cast it aside as easily as he had done before. A knife flew free from Imoen's hand as she leapt to her feet then as well, but neither touched the old man. He sent them both twisting uselessly away.

And with another stream of light flashing quickly toward the Elf, the man vanished again into the space behind. Coran threw himself away just as those screaming ribbons tore through the bookcase beside him, dozens of tomes bursting into flames instantly and raining down cinders and ashes into the middle of the chamber. Minsc hauled Dynaheir back up beside him.

"Edwin! Dynaheir!" Jaheira was shouting at the top of her lungs, her husband at her side. But the two hardly needed any word. Both had their hands up and at the ready, lips twitching and waiting for the man to return. The one's face was smooth as stone, though strained … the other's was bleeding down into his beard and twisted into a fierce snarl.

Ajantis pulled himself back up from where he had fallen with a loud growl, casting about. Xan merely stood in the midst of it all, blue blade held before him, his other hand free. He was staring back behind them.

Davaeorn stepped out of nothingness then, just where the Elven mage was looking. Xan pulled back his hand instantly, his lips moving quickly. But the old man was faster. His palms gathered before him, fire gathered there between his fingers, swirling around faster and faster. Xan's eyes went wide, and his mouth stopped moving. Edwin and Dynaheir seemed to notice the man behind them then, and they turned. But it was too late. Far, far too late.

A small smile spread across the old man's lips as he looked up to them. And then the ball of fire leapt toward them slowly, almost lazily. The man vanished once more.

Xan had hardly wasted a moment. Twisting about, he fled. Edwin thrust himself aside, tearing away into another chamber. Minsc snatched up Dynaheir in his huge arms, and leapt into the air. Jaheira pulled Khalid away with her. Coran vanished.

The explosion was bright, and terrible.

Light flashed throughout the chamber where Davaeorn had first stood, all sound dying for a moment after one thunderous clap. And then fire went screaming out in every direction, throwing up the entire room in a sudden inferno. Everything within it simply ceased to exist.

Ajantis snatched Imoen from where she stood, her eyes wide in horror. He pulled her behind his bent shield, ducking low. But it only just spared them. When the blast reached the two, it forced them over and back into the air, tumbling out of sight.

There was silence then. Only the sound of the stones in the walls seeming to come apart disrupted it. Dust rained down from the ceiling, chunks of rock cascading down then in its wake. There was no fire left anywhere. There was no anything left anywhere where the blast had been. There was a gaping hole.

Davaeorn was standing just before that hole, gazing down into it briefly before turning his sights back up toward the crumbling passage beyond. The others were scattered. They could hardly have fought back just then. He had only to pick them apart one … by one.

"Tremble before the might of my sorcery!" he bellowed in that cascading voice. It did not echo from the walls anymore. There were hardly any walls to speak of. And then he started laughing, lifting his arms wide. The space behind him started to open up once more.

And then it stopped.

His laughing stopped.

The old man looked down in surprise, only to find a small blade jutting out of his side. And attached to it … was an arm.

He followed that arm up slowly until he reached a face, looking deep into its eyes. Evelyn stared right back, cold as ice. Had the man blasted another inferno right on top of her, it wouldn't have been enough to melt it. Her gaze did not waver.

"NO!" the old man howled, striking her suddenly aside with an arm. She could hardly have believed the strength of the blow, as weak as she had known the wound in his side would have swiftly made him then. But he sent her tumbling over and down into the pit before him. Her back struck against stone.

Davaeorn stumbled backward, a hand at his wounded side. It should have been fatal. If he did not die soon, he would die slowly at least. Evelyn stood from where she had fallen, and made for the edge.

The old man pulled a blood stained hand before his eyes, doubt and fear measuring there for the briefest of moments. His robes nearly tripped him as he continued back and away. But then he was shouting out anew.

"NIMBUL!"

As Evelyn pulled herself out of the crater in the stone, the sides perfectly rounded beneath, a familiar man in a dark coat suddenly darted out into sight before her. It gave her a moment's pause of surprise, but then she was pushing forward once more. She could hear motion behind her.

"You will not have me!" the old man spat at her as she closed on him, only moments away from extinguishing that bright burning candle. It had already begun to waver.

But then the old man began chanting quickly, lifting an arm. The other he latched onto the man in the black coat beside him. And then the air began to stir once more behind.

Davaeorn smiled at her, cruel and vicious. There was no more fear in his eyes. "As I said, girl … this place will be your tomb."

And then he was gone.

Evelyn stopped, and stared. She glanced around quickly, but there was no one there. The man was not hiding in nothingness anymore. He was gone.

She looked back toward the smoldering ruins of the room behind her, but not for long. When she returned to where the old man had been, she glanced past it. There was a platform and a wheel there, just like the one in the tunnels above.

She started forward.

"Eve!"

The voice brought her to a halt, and, for a moment, the blood began to reside. She glanced back over her shoulder to see her best friend, helping a stumbling knight along with one arm draped across his shoulders. The man's teeth were bared, and there was soot and ash caking his entire face. Imoen hardly looked any better.

But then Evelyn was looking once more toward the platform. The blood was suddenly seething in her veins anew. She only stayed long enough to call back to the others, and then she was starting forward.

"Hurry."

Jaheira and Khalid were moving toward her then, helping each other pick their way through the rubble and crumbling walls. Minsc still had Dynaheir in his arms, and leapt over the shattered remains of the rooms after them. Edwin and Xan made their own way easily enough. But Coran was nowhere to be seen.

Evelyn stared down at the wheel, this one built into the platform itself. Unlike the other, that one would not have needed more than one man to help pull it up toward wherever it went. It was a personal lift, not one designed for ore, though it was doubtful that the old man would work it himself. The thoughts came to her numbly, as if someone else were thinking them. She only let her hands fall on the steel handles as she waited silently for the others.

They crowded in slowly, the small space barely enough to hold them all. Evelyn swept her gaze over them quickly, noting briefly the burns that covered them all. Ajantis seemed to have been hurt more in the blast, but he still managed to stand after they had reached the platform. They could still walk at least. Or so it seemed. She started to move the wheel.

Then something snatched the edge of the lift. It was only a moment before they saw the bloody hand on the wood. Before the platform could move, Coran was pulling his bloody face into view, dragging himself along afterward. Imoen gasped in surprise, but Xan was quick to pull the other Elf up onto the wood. His other arm was almost completely blackened and burned, and he couldn't stand.

Evelyn gave the man a brief glance before turning away. And then she had her hands on the wheel once more. She started turning it slowly. And the ruined place below them faded beneath.

No one spoke as they gradually made their way up. It seemed to last an eternity … at least to Evelyn. She kept her eyes above into the dark of the shaft. She could almost feel that blazing candle somewhere just out of sight. It wasn't out yet. It was waiting for her.

And when they reached the top, when the wheel would go no further, she was the first to step off into the tunnel beyond. She looked to one side … and there it was.

Davaeorn stared back at her, pulling a large key from the stone in the wall. He smiled at her, even through the blood flecking his white beard. And then he vanished.

The others slowly pulled themselves out of the shaft and into the tunnel, but Evelyn just stared. And then something shifted …something big. There was a loud groan deep in the rock. The tunnel suddenly shook.

Someone cried out as she heard no few of the others behind her lose their balance and tumble down to the stone. Evelyn only crouched, absorbing the monstrous blow. And then she looked back, her eyes going wide. Jaheira met her gaze.

"Run."

Without another thought she was charging ahead into the tunnel, hardly knowing just where she was going but feeling that dimming light still burning somewhere ahead of her the entire way. The dark tunnel blurred in her vision, small stones and dust raining down from above as the whole place slowly began to shake. She could hear frantic footfalls just behind her. A large chamber opened up before, more passages winding away in every direction. She did not hesitate before flying down one ahead.

A familiar sight appeared before her then – the platform from the tower above carved into the side of the wall. She hurried toward it, and then leapt onto the wood, already feeling the walls rumbling. There was another groan deep in the tunnels behind, and then the others were piling on with her.

"We have to hurry," was all she said as they did.

"Wait!" Imoen shouted, looking frantically around. "How are we going to get up?"

Her best friend glanced at her, and then at the shaft above.

"Minsc." She looked to the giant Rashemi. He had just put Dynaheir back down on her feet beside him. He perked at the sound of her voice.

"Bring us up Minsc. Hurry." There was a moment's paused. And then the man nodded his large, tattooed head. He moved quickly toward the wheel.

"No! It is too dangerous!" Dynaheir cried out suddenly, snatching at her guardian's arm. She hardly knew just what she was frightened of, but they could all feel it just then. But Evelyn told her softly just what she meant for him to do.

The other woman looked helplessly toward the giant of a man for a moment, opening her mouth to argue more. But another groan from the tunnels silenced her swiftly. And then her face was smooth.

"Do it, Minsc. Now."

The Rashemi wasted not a moment more before pulling at the wheel.

They started gliding up slowly into the shaft above, and the man faded from view. As he did so, however, one last groan sounded loudly, and the whole tunnel shook. They could hear what was happening next. How, Evelyn wasn't sure, but she hardly had the chance to ask. Water came roaring into the tunnels below. They could hear it even as they moved slowly up at away.

After they had gotten little more than halfway up the shaft, however, they could hear the roaring tides suddenly scream in beneath them. All at once the platform stopped. There was a loud cranking as the chains nearly buckled. And then they started descending back down.

Someone screamed – Evelyn wasn't sure who. And for a moment … for a moment she could feel panic clawing at the walls the blood had thrown up inside of her. The water had reached the giant Rashemi below and cast him aside in its fury. For a moment, she was sure he was dead.

But then the lift stopped dead in its tracks, forcing them all almost as one to their knees. Only Coran didn't fall, already lying on the wood where Khalid had left him after carrying him on. And then, ever so slowly, they started to move back up.

Evelyn hardly waited until they had reached the top before climbing up to the ground above. She started pulling the others along in her wake. They had already run out of time. The platform stopped moving.

"Dynaheir," she spoke softly in warning then, but the other hardly needed any word. In an instant light was flaring in her hands and then leaping down toward the wood below. The last of them had climbed off. It burst into flames and collapsed.

Now the waters were visible below. They had heard them raging all the way up. For several long moments they waited, looking anxious for any sign of the Rashemi. Evelyn's own eyes were hard. There was nothing else they could have done. They all would have died.

It was an acceptable loss.

But then that tattooed head was suddenly bursting into view, the giant of a man gasping as he breached the surface.

"Minsc!" Dynaheir cried out suddenly, and Evelyn could see her eyes glinting in the lantern-light. It was not long before Khalid and Xan had each of his arms, pulling him up and out of the rising tide.

"We must hurry," Jaheira declared urgently herself, staring at the waters as they kept rising. But it was hardly what she was speaking of. And Evelyn was already far ahead of her.

She flew up the stairs without another thought, barely waiting for the others to hurry up behind. She was back in the small room with the table and its cards then, only to find both toppled and scattered on the floor. She was through the door in an instant.

Pandemonium was the first thing she saw … utter chaos. Staring down and away from atop the ladder, she could see the battle was raging on the other side of the encampment. Whatever the miners had intended to do … they had certainly started doing it.

Evelyn watched, but only long enough to see the light and fire raining down amidst the men who battled ahead. Screams were suddenly filling the air, sharp and terrible. And then Evelyn was leaping down from the ladder.

"Evelyn, wait!" someone shouted from behind her, but she wasn't listening.

She charged down toward the bridge that spanned the two islands in the moat. It had been broken in half, sinking into the murky waters. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment before quickly wading across to the other side. And then she was facing the fray.

Darting around the side of the barracks, she came up short. The miners were leaping to and fro, spears and swords and shields and maces flying free into the guards that swung through their midst, blades hacking wildly. A lone Dwarf tore through it all, a large hammer in his hands. It smashed through first one skull and then another, taking a third man in the chest and sending him sprawling. But it was hardly enough.

The guards were better armed, chain links turning aside steel as often as shields. But it wasn't they who were cutting the miners down so quickly one by one. It was the two men, one in thick plate and all but untouchable by the clumsy blows cast his way, the other moving with blinding speed, swinging mightily with a spiked morningstar. Two men in robes stood back from them, flinging light into the fray as well. The miners would hardly last much longer.

And then Evelyn caught sight of Davaeorn, the old man with his back to her as he studied the carnage before him. He was still clutching his side, bleeding freely. But he was also trembling in rage and horror at the sight. Seeing the miners in mutiny and being slaughtered before his very eyes seemed hardly to please him.

A dark shape moved beside the old man, noticing her presence of a sudden. Two dark eyes fixed on her and then slowly started forward. But then he caught himself up instantly. Without saying anything, he suddenly turned … and fled.

Evelyn realized then that the others had reached her, Jaheira and Xan coming up to either side. Khalid was carrying Coran over one shoulder, and Ajantis was stumbling forward with Imoen watching him carefully at his elbow. Minsc and Dynaheir were swift on their heels. But as Edwin came into sight of the battle ahead, he abruptly slowed and came to a halt. One look at Evelyn, though, and he was pushing forward again with a scowl. The blood staining his face made it seem all the fiercer.

Davaeorn glanced up in surprise as Nimbul tore past him, uttering not a word as he dove into the melee, dodging blades and spears hastily cast his way. He vanished from sight. And then the old man was rounding on them slowly.

"DRASUS!" he bellowed instantly as his eyes fell on Eve. The two men who had been making short work of the miners rounded instantly at the sound of his voice, tearing themselves away from the fray. As one of them shouted out to the others, the two wizards who had been scorching men and casting them easily aside twisted away as well, and looked to the old man.

Evelyn was charging forward. She didn't wait for the others. All she could see was the burning light bright before her, wavering in her eyes. It was still strong though, and she meant for it to be hers. The blood demanded that it be hers.

It was screaming.

The miners were all dead. She couldn't see any more of them left standing. What remained of the guards – a few dozen or so men – rounded instantly on her and the others, sighting the Master of the Mines just before them. They did not hesitate before charging forward as well.

Evelyn didn't see them. She didn't see anything. She only saw the lights dancing before her eyes. They swarmed in around her. There was no sound. And there was no light other than those … the one bright one flashing at their center.

And then her eyes went black.

The first man to reach her didn't touch her. She slipped around his swinging blade and snapped his neck. The next lasted no longer, a hole punched right through his armor into his chest. A third flew away from her, nearly losing his arm. And another had his skull smashed in. Another fell. And another … and another.

She hardly knew what was going on around her. She hardly knew just what the others were doing. She hardly knew just what _she_ was doing. Those lights flickered out one by one, as she made her way toward their center. But she knew just enough to see Davaeorn's eyes fly wide as he tried to work his way back and away.

Light flashed into the fray. It didn't touch her. She was too fast. As blades swept in to take her, steel screaming for her chest and head and neck, she slipped past each of them, forcing chunks of flesh and blood and bone hurtling away into the night. A pocket began to open up around her.

She was death incarnate.

And then an axe was flashing toward her skull, twisting haft over blade as it hurtled toward her through the air. She ducked, snatching it in one hand, and threw it back. It took the man in plate in the chest. Next, a morningstar was swinging in, almost fast enough to touch her. But it didn't. And as she slipped in to catch the arm that swung it, her black eyes met those of the man before her. They widened in sudden terror. And then he was hurtling away.

Davaeorn was all that was left before her. She could see his light burning bright as she stalked slowly forward. He tried to throw more magic at her … fire and acid and lightning raining down and screaming between them to swallow her whole. But it didn't touch her. Nothing touched her. And the man suddenly couldn't get away from her fast enough.

She had him by the front of his robes, black eyes glaring into blue as she lifted him up from the ground and into the night above. She stared up at him, her face smattered with blood and smooth as stone. The blood was thunderous, screaming for every last flicker of life. She started to reach out toward that light.

The old man was screaming then, as she slowly started to drain all of the life from him. His light began to fade, and the night about grew strangely silent. She drank in that rich flavor, basking in the succulent, bittersweet taste. But then those blue eyes suddenly locked on hers.

"You … will not … have me!" he rasped against her ears, already fading as all the blood drained from his face.

It was too late … that was what the blood was screaming in her ears, mocking him and laughing. But that did not stop him muttering then under his breath, the words biting insistently at her ears. But she didn't listen. She just kept drinking in his life, dousing that flame in darkness. He was already dead.

But then the man smiled, grim and triumphant all at once as he looked down to her. He shouted one last word, and a ball of flames leapt into his hands. Without another thought, he slammed them both into his chest.

The whole world about Evelyn exploded, a raging inferno blasting the old man before her into nothing in an instant. Everything that was him came screaming back out of her with it, flying loose in every direction. And then she was flying too, feeling heat singe her clothes, her skin … everything. The hot night air at her back was cool by comparison.

The flames swallowed her whole, and the blood was shrieking. She didn't feel any of it then. She only felt the thundering crescendo in her veins, threatening to burst her apart. But then everything fell silent. The blood fell silent. She drifted …

When she finally felt the ground strike her back, there wasn't any pain. There was only numbness. There was a fleeting thought … a fear … wondering just how much of her there was left as her mind suddenly came screaming back. But everything was swallowed instantly in a haze. She tried blinking up at the stars, marveling briefly at the fact that her eyes hadn't been melted. And then she was wondering desperately just why she could think that they should have been in the first place.

Fear started welling up within her … fear and confusion. She started to hyperventilate, suddenly feeling them threatening to swallow her whole.

She was vaguely aware of motion around her … somewhere. She tried to move, but she couldn't.

"Help," she breathed, her voice hoarse. She couldn't move …

"Help me!" she willed as much of whatever was left of her strength into her voice, suddenly wondering just how she had gotten back outside the mines. The grass was on fire around her. She couldn't breathe.

"Help …"

She couldn't hear anything thundering in her ears anymore, and the silence was deafening. She started to cry. But no one could hear her sobbing just then. She was alone. Utterly alone.

And she kept crying for a long time.


	42. Chapter 5 After the Storm

_**After the Storm**_

She dreamt of blood.

It was not the blood on a blade or the blood on her hands, though she could see plenty of that as she wriggled her fingers in the dark. No, instead it was an ichor that ran as a torrent through the world. It was a flood that poured across fields and forests. It was an ocean that suddenly swept her up in its wake beneath her feet and floated her to the world's edge, threatening to cascade off into the void. But most of all it was that blood still inside of her, singing loudly in her veins.

It called out to that below.

It was frightening, but she was strangely calm. It was a massive force beneath her that swept away all resistance in its path. She could hardly have stopped it. It was a monster swallowing all the realms. Could she have seen it on high, it would have covered the entire world in its red-black embrace.

But she hardly had such a lofty perch.

She was in the midst of the deluge, casting about as great waves of that blood thrashed violently through the sea. It did not move as one. It was filled with currents, eddies, and undertows, each threatening to break the others apart. But there were pockets of calm as well beneath the swells, and had she needed breath in that place, she might have gasped aloud once the froth spat her back out into momentary peace.

She bobbed for a moment, treading blood as she watched the whirlpools churning violently about. They would have easily rent her limb from limb, but they were undirected. There was great anger, and suffering, and hatred there … but no driving will to give it focus. She watched in silence from amidst the calm as they threatened to tear each other apart. For a moment, she could see faces.

The tides came screaming in for her once more, but she bared her teeth. As an angry swell crashed down on her, she fought back. It was brute force and blind hate … and she was persistence and determination. Her own blood sang in response, willing her to let the raging torrent take her as it willed … down into the depths below. But she fought back.

The blood was hissing in her head – she could feel it clawing at the back of her skull, inside her chest, and through her veins. But she fought back. The waves pooled around her, and she was suddenly catapulted higher into the air, a trail of ichor following behind. She felt it pulling at her, willing her to return, but she forced it along in her wake, baring her teeth and hissing right back the whole way.

And then she stopped.

The blood rose before her in a tide then, massing into a shape high enough above to match her in the air. It quickly smoothed into a form she did not know, and yet was all too familiar. She had seen it in her nightmares … somewhere buried deep in the darkest parts of her mind.

A black-eyed demon was facing her then, all spines and claws and murderous rage. It stared at her with those dark pools, an icy inferno blazing bright deep within. She felt a flash of fear.

They remained there for an eternity, staring at one another, deep brown eyes to black, both held aloft by the raging tides of blood below. Neither spoke – there was no air or sound to speak. There was only the bloody ocean beneath, raging and eternal.

And then the other smiled at her.

There was no mouth, only those eyes. They twinkled with amusement … and then they were pulling closer. For a moment Evelyn panicked, trying to reel back. But she couldn't move. The demon only seemed to grow, spreading wide as it moved forward toward her. She thrashed, and kicked, and screamed … but it did nothing. And then the blood was swallowing her whole.

Her mouth had flung open, and the demon suddenly swept within her. It swallowed her body, a whirlwind that devoured everything that was her whole. And then she was swallowing it, engulfing the beast before her until there was nothing left.

She reeled. She gagged. And she spat, desperately trying to force whatever it was back out from within. She could _feel_ it twisting around inside her, invading everything that was her and swallowing it whole from the inside. She felt her eyes slowly turn black as well.

The demon was laughing at her, reveling in the ecstasy that was her terror as she threatened to rend her own body apart to tear it from her. But it seeped into her skin. It seeped into her bones. It soothed her blood. And she stopped struggling almost at once.

It was her lips that smiled then.

* * *

It was raining.

For a moment Evelyn didn't know if it was more tears splattering her cheeks or the dark thunderclouds above. She opened her eyes slowly, almost not daring to look for fear of seeing black eyes glaring back at her. But as she heard thunder, and it wasn't inside her head, she felt the storm finally pass.

Arms were around her then, lifting her up. She barely felt them. Her ownarms were like jelly, and she flopped limply in that grasp. And then a face was pressing in before her.

She didn't hear what the other was saying at first. Her ears were still ringing. But she recognized Ajantis' hard jaw, his dark eyes pleading as his lips moved quickly. He pulled her close and was rocking her back and forth there on the ground, whispering frantically into her ear. She only stared up at him, unheeding, her head dangling back against her shoulders.

"You should have been dead," his voice suddenly bit into her ears, coming from somewhere far, far away. "You should have been dead!" He sounded feverish, almost manic. "I couldn't protect you, I couldn't protect you …"

She didn't hear the rest. Her eyes slowly wandered up and away, rolling back toward her head. But then he was suddenly shaking her until he had her attention once more. Still whispering fiercely, he stood as quickly as he could and threw her over his shoulder. And then she finally saw what was left of the encampment.

The palisade had been broken. Bodies were everywhere, and she could see flames still licking eagerly at what was left of the grass around them. The barracks had caved in, seeming very much as if a giant had punched a flaming hole into its side. She could just make out beds and chests within, still standing peacefully on the far side of rooms, while those nearest had simply ceased to exist.

The ground beneath her was glass. There were no bodies there. And most of the wooden stakes that had surrounded her so close had simply been blasted away. She could see some of them sticking up in the moat and even further on toward the forest, hundreds of paces away.

She could barely move. It was all she could do as she felt the knight limping away beneath her, to look desperately for everyone else. For Imoen. For Jaheira … Khalid, Xan … even Coran. But she saw too many bodies on the ground. And her eyes were still blurring too much to know how many of them were theirs.

There was a man … she recognized his robes, but they weren't black. He was impaled on a crooked wooden stake, his chest burst open from behind. For a moment she had been sure that it was Edwin. But there was no beard on that face. Only agony.

And then she saw Jaheira. Ajantis slowly helped her to the ground before him, kneeling as best he could beside her. His shield was gone, and she couldn't see his sword. The other woman did not look up as he came close.

"I found her," was all the knight said. Evelyn barely heard it. The druid was tending to a man beneath her, half of his body seeming black and burnt. She couldn't even recognize him under all the ash.

Imoen was there too. For a moment she caught sight of her friend there lying almost peacefully on the ground … and thought she was dead. She would have screamed could she have made her voice work. But then she saw the slow rise and fall of the other's chest, her throat bobbing as she swallowed beneath a layer of soot and sweat.

Jaheira was staring at Evelyn then, their eyes meeting abruptly as Eve's own returned. The other's were hard as stone and unyielding. It was strange given just what she received in a flash of memory of the woman below. But then she noticed something else there, buried beneath the steel she fixed on the raven-haired woman just then. It was fear.

Evelyn hardly knew what that meant. She hardly knew what _any_ of it meant. Her memories were all rattling around her head and screaming at her all at once, each flashing frantically before her eyes and desperate to be heard. She had to swallow them back before they swallowed _her_.

The other woman was saying something. She didn't know what. But Khalid was suddenly in view. He had someone draped across his shoulder as well, and there was someone standing next to him. She only heard a gravelly voice before the druid had turned back to her.

Jaheira said something, but Evelyn felt herself slipping. She was tired … so very, very tired. The other woman was pressing close, whispering to her urgently. Her eyes fluttered slowly closed. The other was shaking her.

And then she slept.

* * *

Evelyn was blinking her eyes open once more, staring up into the wood of a ceiling above. She could feel a bed beneath her. It was hard, and uncomfortable, but it felt more pleasant than anything she had slept on in a long while. And for a long while she just lay there blinking, letting feeling slowly worm its way back into her body.

She sat up and stretched … or tried to. She frowned, tugging roughly at her arms. Then she tugged at her legs. But neither would move. Glancing quickly down, she could only just make out something binding her fast to the bed. She started to panic.

Her eyes darted around quickly, desperate for any sight of her captors. She started kicking wildly, frantic to get up and away. And then something was abruptly leaping up from the other side of the room, barreling towards her. Hands closed down on her mouth.

She tried to scream, but too late. Then a face was pressing close. She could barely make it out in the dark.

"My Lady, please!" It was making shushing noises at her, begging her to calm down. And then she recognized those dark eyes. They weren't black.

"Ajantis?"

Her voice was barely more than a hoarse squeak, but the other seemed to understand it nonetheless. "Yes, my Lady Evelyn. Thank Helm you're finally awake!"

She stared up at him in awe, and then glanced quickly about once more. "Where am I?" she asked then, wondering just how they had found her a bed in the middle of the Cloakwood. At least, that was where she last remembered being. Her memory was a violent blur.

But the man ignored her question. "Wait! Wait here, my Lady! You need food and water!" He was twisting back around and away, and she was left wondering just where he expected her to go. She wasn't sure just why she had been bound to the bed, but she gave whatever it was that wrapped her chest and legs another look. At least he didn't _seem_ like he meant to harm her.

And then she thought about what he had just said. How long had she been sleeping? Had they left the Cloakwood? She hardly knew just how that was possible, but it would have been a welcome relief. She couldn't remember half of the things that had happened there, it seemed. But she was somehow sure just then that she was better off keeping it that way.

"Gods, but I thought he'd never leave."

Evelyn started in surprise. Or tried to. She settled for twisting her head to one side instead, toward the sound of the voice. She could just barely make out another shape on a bed beside her, realizing just then that there were more lined all along the room.

"Who's there?" she squeaked uncertainly, squinting into the dark. She could see a mass of white against darker hair, but little beyond a bared chest beneath blankets. Two blue eyes fixed on her.

"I imagine I look somewhat the worse for wear, sweetling," the voice told her, "but don't let the blood or the bandages fool you. I am still very much the handsome face you fell in love with."

"C-Coran?" She willed more strength into her voice, still feeling tired but hardly comfortable enough to sleep while tied to the bed. But the other's voice was hardly any stronger. She almost didn't recognize it.

"Ah," he barked a failing laugh. "So you admit it, sweetling. You _do_ love me."

Before she could say anything in reply, the other was seized by a fit of coughing, his chest nearly bursting as he roughly shook the bed around him. It eventually subsided, but only after several long moments in which she became increasingly sure that each would be his last. But then he was sucking in a seething breath, easing himself gingerly back down.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, wondering fiercely just what could have hurt the other so much. A memory came flashing back into her mind – of him reaching a bloody hand out to grab at her – but she forced it quickly away.

"You have been sleeping all day, sweetling," came his voice once more after an anxious stretch of silence. "The paladin has not left your side since he placed you in that bed, and has been playing nurse-maid to you ever since." He shook his head slowly. "I might begrudge him the privilege, had I the strength to move much. Or the lack of seared flesh not to be blinded in pain … But I think I'd much rather you tending me, sweetling. The knight's hands have been bumbling at best."

His words reminded her of the bindings about her once more, and she gave them another tug. But whoever had fastened her there had meant for her not to move. It set her mind flying with doubtful thoughts anew.

"Why am I tied down?" she ventured then after a moment. Those misty blue eyes returned slowly to her.

"You were thrashing in your sleep, sweetling," he said slowly, almost guardedly. "If the man had not bound you so, you might have broken something. If nothing else, it was terribly distracting, and I still need my sleep."

She frowned at him, opening her mouth to ask him just how she could have been thrashing so badly as to need to be tied down. But then someone was bursting back into the room, thrusting a door swiftly shut behind. It only took her a moment to realize it was Ajantis.

He was swiftly giving her small bits of food and drink, forcing her to tilt her head back as he fed her like a child. She tried to be kind to him, and forget the anger she had harbored toward him ever since that night. It was difficult, but knowing just how much he had doted on her while she had hardly been in a position to help herself made it a little easier. It took her a while to convince him to untie her, though.

"You still need rest, my Lady," he had protested, urging her to take more of the dried meat from his hands. She felt her patience slip at the idea that she couldn't even use her own hands to feed herself. And she began to wonder if the man was so afraid of her thrashing in her sleep or just thrashing _him_ while he was so close. She had certainly had reason enough to before. She thought so.

But he was right. She didn't feel weak. She only felt tired. Even though she had apparently slept a full day, she still felt tired. But he eventually agreed to unbind her and take his chances.

She could hardly remember any nightmares she might have had. But given the jumble of memories still swirling around in her head, she supposed she hardly needed them to twist and turn in her sleep. Some of those images she felt sear into her mind were far more terrible than she could possibly have suffered just then. Whoever had done some of those things … it had not been her. It couldn't possibly have been. She was deathly sure of that.

"My Lady," he suddenly broke in after letting her finish feeding herself. He had been watching her eat, a hand ready from where he crouched against the floor beside her bed to give her more water should she have needed it. She had asked him where he had gotten it from, realizing with some surprise that they were in the guard barracks of the Iron Throne encampment, and he had told her that he had stolen it from what remained of the mercenaries victuals. But an image of nearly half the place smashed to nothing flashed in her mind, and she wondered just why the room she was in then showed no signs of it. Maybe it had just been a dream.

She glanced up at him, and his dark eyes suddenly squeezed shut. He was grimacing briefly, but then he had fixed on her once more.

"I failed you, my Lady," he began to tell her softly. "I promised to protect you – at the expense of my own life if need be … but I failed. I could not protect you when the time came, my Lady Evelyn. You pushed ahead of me and I could not follow. There were too many between us and you. And I … I could not reach you. I fought as hard as I still could … I cut as many of them down that stood between us as I could, but I … I could not save you."

He had clutched at her hand then, enfolding it desperately within his own as he looked up into her eyes. His gaze was almost feverish.

"And then you vanished." He shook his head, looking horrified. "At first I thought you captured, or taken, or just lost amidst the fiends … but then … but then … the blast …"

He was baring his teeth, his face twisted and pained as he relived the memory. His grip tightened almost painfully on hers. She remembered fire briefly then, bright and terrible. She remembered it swallowing her whole.

"You were dead," the other told her abruptly, the last word crashing down from his lips like a hammer. "You were dead," he repeated, "I knew it in my heart as I watched the blast take everything around where you had been."

He was still shaking his head, not looking at her as his eyes seemed to glaze over. But it only lasted a moment more, and then he was fixing back on her.

"I made a promise, my Lady Evelyn – I swore an oath to protect you!" She could just see the glint of tears in his dark eyes. "You were dead, my Lady, but I had not just failed you utterly in the end … Whatever I have said – forgive me for that, I know you cannot forgive my failure … but I lost something more precious … far more precious than just my honor in that blaze."

She stared at him, but his eyes had fallen. She had stopped chewing at the dried meat in her mouth, and she absentmindedly finished and swallowed. She hardly knew what to say. She hardly knew just what _he_ had said. But she was sure she could guess. It wasn't the first time since waking that she had wished desperately that she could remember even half of what he was talking about.

"If it makes you feel any better, sweetling … I did not doubt your survival for a moment. Never mind though I was unconscious at the time."

Ajantis rounded on the Elf instantly, his face now twisted in sudden rage even as it colored a bright red. Coran had not spoken a word since the man had returned. She was sure that he had completely forgotten that the other was even there.

"No," the knight uttered suddenly, twisting back away. "No. You stood your ground honorably, Elf. That you nearly died fighting for her and could hardly have done anything more is excuse enough for not protecting my Lady then. I have no such excuses for my own failure."

Those misty blue eyes seemed to widen in bemusement at the other man's words. But then she had finally found her voice.

"Evelyn," she said softly, drawing the knight back toward her with a frown.

"My Lady?"

"Just … Evelyn," she told him. She was hardly a Lady. She was just Evelyn. It was all she could think of to say in that moment.

"Evelyn," the man repeated, seeming surprised. But at least he had understood just what she meant this time. She had grown more than tired of being called something that she was not.

She hardly knew what to say to the rest of it … so she just ignored it. Instead, she asked him where all the others were. She had a few more flashes of some of them lying flat on the ground or being carried, slung over someone's shoulder. There had been a battle, of that she was now sure. It came back to her all too slowly.

"The other Elf is well enough," he said with a gesture past her toward another bed on her other side. She glanced over to see another dark form lying there, assuming it was Xan. "He took a blade in the side, but his wounds were not so grievous as to threaten his life. He has awoken briefly only twice since last night. The two Easterners fared better, and so did that base cur of a wizard."

"Imoen?" she asked quickly, ignoring the other man's scowl. Edwin had at least stood his ground and helped them. For the most part.

"The girl was not badly injured, my Lady – Evelyn," he amended hastily. "She is all but well. The same could not be said for others."

"He means me, sweetling," Coran interrupted abruptly then. Another fit of coughing seized him almost as if on cue, and she gave him a worried eye.

"What about Jaheira and Khalid?" She was sure she would have seen one of the two by then. But the other shook his head.

"They have gone, my … Evelyn," he told her. "The half-Elven woman could not heal the Elf's wounds, and we could not risk letting his wounds fester or his fever worsen by trying to move him."

"There is only one fever that has ever affected me, sweetling. And I assure you, it is not an unpleasant one."

The knight gave her a pointed look, as if to excuse the other man's words as a result of his injuries and whatever that fever was that he was suffering. She somehow doubted that it was pleasant.

"I entreated Helm to give me the power to stem the wounds that I could," he continued slowly, giving the Elf an eye, "but I think He understands my failure all to well. His favor is not sostrong with me just now."

He looked down to the floor once more, his face convulsing with the thoughts that flashed then across his mind. He shook his head slowly, and then stood.

"The woman went to seek help from the druids of the wood. She hopes that they will be strong enough to give strength back to the Elf, as well as help in the healing of some of the others. She seemed willing to spare precious little of her strength, telling me only that it would not have been enough and that she would need it to be swift. Her husband has gone with her."

She opened her mouth to ask him just what they were supposed to be doing until the older woman returned, wondering briefly _if_ she would return. The Cloakwood had certainly proved as perilous as the older woman had once warned her it would be. And the druids had seemed somewhat less than interested in having anything to do with them. But he pressed a hand to her shoulder, pushing her back down toward the bed.

"Rest, my … rest, Evelyn," he told her. "We will have a long journey ahead of us, and the fewer of us that need help the better. You will need your strength."

He turned away, quickly leaving the room. She did not think he would have gone far, though, not if the Elf had been right about him hardly leaving her side for the past day. She resolved then to fall asleep quickly before he came back, thinking it would be far easier to do it with him gone. She turned over to one side to get more comfortable, only realizing too late that it faced her directly towards the Elf. Those misty blue eyes danced as they caught hers.

"There is not much room on my bed, sweetling … but I'm sure that we could improvise if you wished."

Her thought to scowl back at him was somewhat discouraged by the sudden bout of coughing that wracked his chest of sudden then. Instead she only settled in and closed her eyes, feeling her heart fall as she tried not to look at him. Ajantis had said that Coran had nearly _died_ fighting for her. She could remember … almost … it was precious little. But she did not doubt that it was somehow all her fault. She only hoped that whatever Jaheira intended to do, she did it quickly.

His coughing lasted a long time. And she could not help the tears that soon began rolling silently down her cheeks at the sound.


	43. Chapter 5 Shades of Light

_**Shades of Light**_

Coran only seemed to get worse during the next day.

Evelyn had felt strong and rested enough not to be bound to her bed after another night's rest, though the knight had certainly protested. As much as he never seemed to let her out of his sight for more than a few minutes at best, he could not summon the courage to argue with her for long. She had taken to watching over the wounded Elf after that.

"Sweetling?" he had breathed after coming awake to see her sitting beside his bed and watching over him. "What a beautiful vision you are … my dreams are all of you. Why are your clothes still on?" His faced had scrunched up at her in confusion. "I already took them off …"

She had felt her face flush crimson at that, but only squeezed the Elf's hand all the tighter. It had been the least of what he had said to her already, barely seeming to keep conscious for more than few moments before his blue eyes would be glazing over once more. The good half of him that was not covered in burns was drenched in sweat, and his auburn mane was limp about his pointed ears.

"Sweetling, you look in need of cheering up," she had heard his voice through that delirium again while she gently scrubbed what remained of the ash from his skin and clothes. "I know a song which a man can sing to his companion, should she happen to be a fair lady and in need of a smile …"

His eyes wandered, almost not seeing her through their fog. But it had not stopped him from attempting to sing her whatever song then sprung to his lips. Unfortunately, for him, it was terrible, and she had to try not to wince. He seemed not to notice how hoarse his voice was, or how he croaked when he tried to speak more often than not. But she had smiled down at him nonetheless when he finished, biting back her tears. She could not keep those thoughts of him reaching toward her deep down in the earth below, his bloody arm and half a face all that was recognizable. She would have left him down there without a second thought.

More memories had come back to her, each of them more terrible than the last. She hardly wanted to believe them all … or believe that _she_ had been the one to cause just what she saw. But that had not been the worst of it.

"Sweetling," Coran had whispered in another daze, not looking at her. "You step out of a bloodbath on the carpet of rose hips, naked and tender." He waved a hand gently at his side, as if reciting a poem. "Your foe's blood could be flower petals clinging to your body enviously … or a sensual pattern drawn in henna dye by a frivolous hand … or claret spilled in abandon, enticing a thirsty mouth to drink of it …"

His voice had trailed off, and then his unseeing eyes had turned toward her own. Hers were filled with tears and horror at the thoughts they summoned then. But the man seemed not to notice.

"Hanali Celanil teaches us that love is warm and golden. From you, my sweetling, another passion, dark and red cometh, and dizzies a man." He swallowed thickly. And then he laughed. "When I loved the strongest, I found myself on the brink of death, almost, in pain from pleasure. Now I know why."

The last came out as a faint rasp. And then he was seized by another fit of fierce coughing. He fell into a restless sleep after that.

Ajantis had been watching her at some point, and she had looked up from the feverish Elf only to see his dark eyes staring down at the other man. They met hers briefly, and then his face convulsed with whatever he began to think just then. He twisted away from the sight, and left.

After Coran had fallen asleep once more, she had left his side as well, following the knight through the door to that long room and out into another. It was broken, half of the floor and the ceiling – the whole room – torn away as she had seen it in her mind. Somehow, she had known that it wasn't just a dream.

He had moved swiftly away from her, and then seated himself upon what remained of a chair, a small fire of broken furniture in the space before him. It had grown dark by that time, and he had begun staring down into it.

She sat down on a broken chest across from him, not saying a word. He had seemed just as troubled as he had been ever since she had awoken in the bed, and she could not help but think of him as seeming as broken as the Elf lying in the other room. Eventually, he noticed her there.

"You were dead," he spoke softly after a time, shivering with the cold though the night was warm. "You were dead. And for the longest time … I could not bring myself to look at your grave. There were too many others who needed help just then. But when I did … when I looked to where the ground had been blasted away beneath you … all around you …," he trailed off. And then he looked up to her. "You were there … lying there untouched … I do not know why Helm gave you back to me. I had already failed."

He shook his head vigorously, scowling into the fire. "I have failed you, my Lady. I can see where your sympathies lie. And I do not begrudge you them. I do not deserve any."

There had been silence then, long and terrible as she watched him stare into the light and the dark, thinking those bleak and terrible thoughts. She felt all her anger towards him melt away anew. He had fought as hard for her cause as he had promised he would … and there had been nothing for him to gain from it but death. And she had broken him because of it.

"Thank you," she told him softly after a time, and took his hand in hers. "Thank you, Ajantis." She wasn't sure just what else to say. He had looked up to her in surprise. "You didn't fail me. I'm still alive."

She tried as best as she could to smile warmly at him, willing him as much courage as she could and didn't have. He seemed to take it, but it was hardly enough. His lips twitched upwards in gratitude, but his eyes did not believe her. He had turned away.

Imoen and the others had seemed far less broken and terrible by far. It gave her a little hope, until she saw the doubt in her best friend's eyes as she had finally found her helping Minsc and Xan clear the bodies that still littered the broken encampment. The smell of them rotting beneath the heat was only mildly stemmed by tossing them into the moat with all the other refuse. The miners they had begun to dig a mass grave for.

Her best friend had nearly broken down in tears after a moment, though, and finally threw her arms around Evelyn, squeezing her tight. She started babbling almost incoherently, just thankful that she was somehow, miraculously still alive. She had been as certain as the others that the raven-haired woman was dead before the knight had found her. Eve tried her best, but she could only remember that explosion, and a deafening flash of light. Whatever it had been, it should have killed her.

Dynaheir had watched her as she joined in helping the others then, those fierce eyes somehow colder and more studious than they had ever been before. And when she smiled again at the raven-haired woman as she caught the other's gaze … it seemed almost a predatory thing now. She tried to ignore her after that.

Edwin did little, not bothering to help them bury the dead miners. But after catching sight of Evelyn back up and about and well, he quickly offered to dispose of some of the corpses of the dead guards with his magicks. The witch had only hesitated briefly, before doing so as well. Xan had little to contribute to their work, but did not disdain from baring himself to the waist beside the giant of a Rashemi, and finding shovels to unearth a large grave. She could hardly tell if the morose cast to his face was for the dead … or seeing her.

There was a Dwarf amongst them as well, helping the two men with the bodies. She vaguely remembered him from the mines below, but felt certain that he should have been dead. It was he who had apparently decided to entomb his fellow miners, rather than turn them over into the moat or to the wizard's magicks. She paid him little heed, though, and it was hard for her to remain there for long.

She had done something terrible … that much was for certain. If the strange dreams she had had or the violent sleeping habits that had taken her were not evidence enough of that, then the doubt she saw in some of the others' eyes were. But they seemed to hardly know just what had happened the night before. And she had precious little to tell them.

And when she returned to her bed for the night, reaching out to squeeze Coran's hand, she could hear him mumbling more about her blooming in blood and drowning herself in her enemies' then. And she knew she would not have told any of them had she known the truth. She could still see black eyes glaring back at her with a demon's face. And when she finally fell asleep … that demon's face was hers.

* * *

"He's getting worse."

Evelyn did not look toward the feverish Elf atop his bed, but Ajantis and Xan both knew well just who she was talking about. It was the second day since everyone in the Iron Throne encampment had been killed. If she and the others hadn't done it themselves, then the flooded mines below certainly had. She remembered all too well now the raging waters that had nearly taken them too.

The knight was nodding his head slowly, his jaw clenched tight. Xan only shook his.

"There is little else we can do. Death will come for him if she will come, and there is little point in fighting it. If the half-Elf returns before then …" He shrugged.

But Evelyn only felt herself bristle at the thought. The man had nearly died because of her. She was not about to just let him die after all he had been through just because they thought there was nothing more they could do about it.

Jaheira and Khalid had not returned, and they had not had any warning that they might do so either. Evelyn was getting tired of just waiting. The Dwarf had surprised her, though – Yeslick – in telling them that he was a priest of the Dwarven gods Moradin and Clangeddin Silverbeard. Unfortunately, when she had asked him to help the Elf, he had only told her ruefully that his faith was geared in battle, and that that was where his gods granted him power. He could do little to heal the wounded man.

"They might not be coming back," she told the other two. Ajantis gave her a hard look as if he thought she questioned their loyalty – of what he had seen so far of Jaheira and her husband, he must have thought her mad to think that. But she warded his doubts aside with her own – that the dangers of the forests might have taken them. The Wyvern that they had escaped could very well still be hunting them, she knew.

"And what do you propose we do?" the Elven mage asked quietly. Evelyn glanced once more toward the Elf upon the bed. He had been all but senseless for some hours yet. And then she looked back toward the other.

"Leave us alone," was all she said. Ajantis' eyes went wide in surprise, but she turned them quickly aside once more. "For now."

"But my Lady … Evelyn …"

"Please," was all she said, as earnestly as she could. The other stared down at her for several long moments, but could not hold out for long. He eventually turned to leave.

Xan followed soon behind him, though he did not spare her a pointed look. He might have very well known just what she meant to do. Ajantis certainly could not have. But she wasn't even sure that she could.

She returned to the bed beside the wounded Elf, sitting down slowly next to him. His fever had grown worse, and he had barely spoken a word all morning. Sweat soaked his clothes … and the blankets of the bed as well. He had started to smell of more than just charred flesh.

She just sat there and stared for several long minutes, watching his neck bob slowly beneath a fresh layer of sweat. She had taken some pains to keep his face cool and wipe it from him, but it had done little good. His wounds had simply been too great.

After a time longer, she let herself slide forward to the floor, resting on her knees beside the bed. She was trying hard not to look at him, but forcing herself to all the same. It was helping to convince her, though there was still a voice in the back of her head that told her it was far too dangerous, and probably not worth it.

She could feel that thing worming its way around inside her, quiet now, but hardly quiet enough. Memories had begun bleeding back into her skull, showing her more terrible things of just what she had done that day beneath the mines. The thing inside her had come awake fully then, and slowly taken her over when she had failed to stop it. She hadn't known it could do that. No matter how horrible it had seemed before, she had hardly known it had a will of its own.

She was afraid. She was afraid of letting it take her again. She was afraid that if she tried to ask it for help – to coax it to aid the man before her as it had done for so few others before … she was afraid that it would take her over once more. She was afraid that she wouldn't be strong enough to stop it. The demon from the dream wearing her face was enough to nearly turn her away.

But Coran would die. He would die because of her. And what's more … she would let him. That was what was so utterly terrible just then – worse than the thought that she would have abandoned him without another thought in the tunnels below … that she would let him die slowly there in front of her.

No … she shook her head. It had not been _her_ who had wanted to leave him below. It had been the demon wearing her face. It had been the thing coiled up around her heart inside. It was the thing waiting to burst free and assume her face once more. She was afraid … that if she let it out once more … even to help the Elf … that it would end up killing him in her stead. It was too terrible to imagine either end … because, either way, _she_ would be the one letting him die.

She was biting back tears then, desperate for another answer to come to her … for Jaheira to walk in through the door at that moment and pull her away only to bring druids in to heal him in her wake. She didn't care if the other woman scolded her, called her foolish … she just didn't want to think about killing someone who had already given their life so selflessly for her.

_Not again …_

A hand was wrapping around hers, and she looked up. For a moment, she could have hoped that it was Jaheira. But she only saw Coran as she blinked away those tears.

He was studying her with his feverish eyes, but they were strangely focused just then. On her. His hand squeezed hers more tightly, as weak as it was. And his lips twisted upwards into a grin that he just didn't quite have the strength to make.

"Do not cry for me, sweetling," he voiced slowly, the sound barely more than a whisper. Had the room not been silent, she was sure that she would never have heard it. "If Hanali blessed every man with a death for so beautiful a maiden as you … then I should think that there would be no other gods at all …"

She laughed at him suddenly, even through her tears. It was not from pity or scorn or loathing, though, it was just for those beautifully soothing words that came out of his mouth then. Even on his deathbed he had not given up on her. It was the first time she had ever laughed at him.

And, suddenly, she knew that she wasn't giving up on _him_.

She climbed to her feet, suddenly baring her teeth. The Elf didn't see her anymore though, his eyes had glazed over. She wondered if he had ever really seen her at all. And then her hands were down on his bared, sweaty chest, pressing hard as she called to that thing deep down inside her. It was all too eager to respond.

Her blood started pumping harder in her veins … and the demon was howling awake. It fixed on the man before her, seeing the light of his life before her eyes. It wavered. But the beast didn't care. It started to reach out toward him …

She pulled it back, clenching her jaw and hissing at it. Her whole body shook. It thrashed wildly inside of her, desperate to get at the life it felt still flowing weakly in the other's veins. But she wrestled with it, holding it back. And then it turned on her.

It made a desperate grab to seize her, surprising her for only a moment before sweeping through her skull. It was all it needed. And she was screaming then, howling aloud as her eyes threatened to cloud over in black.

She was vaguely aware of the door slamming back on its hinges, and two others charging into the room. One latched onto her from behind, trying desperately to pull her away from the Elf on the bed before her. The other, another Elf, came up short, however, his eyes wide.

The demon felt the life within the other two almost immediately – they were stronger, far brighter than the one before it. It started to turn toward them.

Evelyn snatched one arm up, screaming as she hissed right back at the beast. She took the man behind her by the front of his mail armor and flung him bodily across the room. Striking hard against the wall, he tumbled down to the floor. The other did not move.

The beast was howling at her, mad with rage at being denied its meal. But she howled back at it, baring her teeth. She forced it back toward the man before her. They wrestled there, silently, in her skull, both reaching out toward the man in the bed.

Finally, one of them reached him.

There was silence for a moment then … but their work was done. Without another word, they turned away from the bed, eyes half black and half brown. But they came up short, baring their teeth, as the Elf barred their path.

Xan shoved one hand to the forehead of the young woman before him, and there was a flash of light. Her eyes rolled back up into her head, and she collapsed to the floor.

* * *

When she came awake again, her eyes were blessedly brown.

The beast had withdrawn within her – she could feel that even before she opened her eyes. She was back lying on a bed and blinking up as someone sat there beside her.

It was Xan. The Elf's brown eyes were studying her intently, a hand wavering at his side as if it meant to do something. But she said nothing, and only stared right back. Eventually, he seemed to relax.

"Drink this." He passed her a small wooden mug with some water in it from his other hand. She glanced quickly back around as she drank, but it was just them in the room. She was lying atop the blankets on her bed.

And then she abruptly remembered Coran, looking over sharply to where he should have been. It took her a moment to realize that he still was … the blankets had been drawn up tight around him and he was as still as death. Her eyes fixed desperately on the Elven mage.

"Is he …?"

She hardly dared say it. But then the other was shaking his head.

"Dead? No. It seems his time has not come just yet. Though I would not trust that it has been postponed long either."

But she let herself fall back with a small sigh of relief all the same. She had done it … she had saved him … she could hardly believe it.

She glanced back over to the Elf, realizing then that he was just sleeping. She had grown so used to the frantic rise and fall of his chest while he had been with fever … she hadn't even noticed it now as it seemed almost peaceful by comparison.

"How long was I …?" She rounded back on the mage, his eyes never having left her. They were studying her curiously, and she could only guess at everything he must have been thinking just then.

"An hour," was all he said. And then she looked away, letting memory spill back into her head.

"Ajantis?" she asked suddenly.

"Well enough," the other told her, "considering the rather alarming circumstances. I think the man was rather more displeased at being so _easily_ cast aside by a woman half his size … than truly understanding of just what it was that had happened."

She looked away, not at all doubting that the Elf was not so _easily_ misled. She felt some piece of her fall apart. She had not meant for them to see that beast at all.

The silence stretched between them as she refused to look at the other. She didn't dare chance what she might find in his eyes just then. But she could still feel him studying her. After a time, she wondered if he might just decide that she was the terrible threat she knew she was. But then he suddenly spoke.

"I have never told you of just how I acquired my Moonblade."

She glanced up at him, frowning. He only smiled down at her, sadly. And then he continued.

"I was very young then, perhaps even younger than you are now. The death of my sire was a terrible shock on its own, and the subsequent death of my brother, who found his doom in Icewind Dale, added to it. After these events, I lost the will to live."

There was no pain in the other's eyes, though his voice was as solemn as ever. As beautifully musical as it was, it was hollow.

"Nothing was important," he continued anew, "so when I realized that someone from my House had to step forward and claim the blade, I volunteered without thinking. Nevertheless, it was a terrifying experience … standing in a ray of blue fire and waiting for the uncertain death."

"Death?" she asked suddenly, and he smiled that sorry smile down at her once more.

"Yes. You see, drawing the blade can easily result in the claimant's death, if the sword finds him unworthy. I survived, but the reflection of that day haunts me still."

She still wasn't sure about that, and she blinked up at him. "Why didn't it kill you?" It was better than wondering about what else he might be thinking of her at least.

"I was already well versed in magic lore, and ready to protect Evereska to the last … with my life, if need be." He shook his head slowly. "I was also too young to commit any dark deeds to my name. Probably that affected the sword's decision as much as anything. After all, a Moonblade is only a semi-intelligent being, and I suppose a small child of a prominent House would claim it without any great risk to his health. But these are just my guesses – I will never know the true reason."

She just shook her head in return, her brow furrowing. She was wondering just when he would call her out as the demon he now knew her to be. He could not have mistaken what he must have seen her do. As much as she didn't want to hear it … she knew it would come. And then he pulled that silvered blue blade from beside him on the bed.

Her eyes widened slightly, but he did not try to run it through her. Instead he simply stared at it, his handsome face smooth and filled with no small amount of wonder. It did not last long, though, and he was turning back toward her.

"This sword I wield has a cruel tale to tell," he started anew. "It had originally been forged to choose a royal family, but now it is only a symbol, albeit an important one. The blade is thousands of years old, and it has passed through many hands, eventually ending up in mine."

His eyes returned slowly to the blade, and his voice fell just a little.

"The previous owners are not simply dead you must understand … their spirits are _trapped_ within the Moonblade. It is the terrible price they must all pay for using its abilities."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. She sat up in the bed.

"Can't you just … just get rid of it?" she asked worriedly. But those brown eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head.

"A Moonblade cannot be lost or abandoned," he told her softly. "I nearly died when I became separated from it – due to Mulahey's courtesy. Besides," he sighed, "it is an object of honor, and I shall never give it up. No, I am afraid I am doomed to become one with it, and soon." He smiled grimly at her. "It was that that I spoke of to you before, when I told you that you were as doomed as I. I had not realized then just how wrong I was."

Those eyes almost seemed to dance as they alighted on her then. But she looked quickly away. She knew all too well just what he was speaking of.

"Whatever this strange power is that you have called forth, Evelyn, it chills me to the core. It is as if someone walks across my grave. And, after what I have seen these past few days … I am beginning to wonder … if it is you."

She glanced back toward him, but could not help the trembling sob that took her then. Tears had already begun to sting at the corner of her eyes. She could not stop her face from scrunching up as well, feeling more frightened and alone just then than she could possibly have imagined.

It was all too much … those memories threatened to ravage her from within even as the beast hungered to swallow her again. It was all too much … and his words stung more than he could possibly know …

But Xan was suddenly holding her, pulling her into his embrace. For one moment, his eyes had cracked … and seemed almost horrified. And then his hands were wrapped around her. He was rocking her back and forth on the bed, whispering softly into her ear. She almost didn't hear him.

"All these years … I have traveled alone. I am not sure if it is right, but I have grown attached to you." He was shaking his head against her neck. "This foolish quest of yours blends with my mission, and, as reckless as you have been, as surely as you are to die before the end … I would not see you fall just yet."

She barely heard him. And there was silence then. But he sighed, taking a deep breath against her as she cried. He spoke.

"I will beg you one last time to abandon this, Evelyn … before it is too late. I am becoming more and more convinced that I have committed a grave mistake. I ask you only to leave when the time comes, and do not look back."

But she had stopped listening. She could still feel that demon squirming around inside her. It was desperate to be let back out. And she wasn't sure if she could hold it back anymore. She cried for that … as much as for everything else.

She was shaking her head into his chest. And he sighed.


	44. Chapter 5 The Culling

_**The Culling**_

"They came through here."

Coran looked up briefly from where he was crouching against the earth, short bow slung over his shoulder. He was tracing a hand along the ground, and shaking his head.

"I cannot say how many. They tread lightly, but it does not seem as if they've taken time to hide their tracks. They do not care if they are followed it seems. And I can't say that I blame them."

Evelyn just nodded at that, trying not to show the worry on her face. But then Minsc was speaking up from where he crouched as well, several paces away.

"Minsc sees that there were many." He was squinting his black eyes into the sparse patch of grass. And then he suddenly glanced toward his broad chest, though Evelyn couldn't see just at what. "Yes, Boo thinks there were ten. One of them was dragged away with much fighting."

"Why would they do that?" Imoen asked, her brow furrowing worriedly. Coran glanced toward the Rashemi with a frown before smiling up at the pink-haired woman.

"Good question, sugarplum." He canted his head, standing. "If they found the druids as they intended to do, then I can hardly see why one of them would be dragged away. Unless, of course, the Tethyrian beauty took exception to one of their stares. In which case I should be flattered that I was not laid flat far sooner."

He came over to stand beside her and Imoen, not seeming the least bit anxious around the raven-haired woman. But, she supposed, he had hardly known just what she had done that day to save his life. The same could not be said for others. Ajantis still stood some paces away, though he had certainly not given up what he saw as his duty to her. But he had almost seemed to avoid speaking to her since yesterday, only muttering something about Helm whenever she came too near. But she didn't blame him.

"They did not find the druids."

Evelyn looked to the Elven mage, but Xan had not made it a question or even a guess. He was certain of it. His face looked even grimmer than before.

She glanced back toward Edwin and Dynaheir as well, noting the look of impatience and the scowl that had easily crept across the wizard's face. He almost looked as if he was about to say something … something that he would regret … but then he caught sight of her staring at him, her eyes hard, and he swallowed it back. He spent as much time watching _her_ now as he did Dynaheir. And it was beginning to make her more than a little nervous, despite his fear. They had done what they had come to the Cloakwood to do, and she hardly needed him anymore. She would have been glad to see him gone.

Dynaheir, though, was a far more difficult choice by far. They had all fought for her in the mines, and nearly died. Edwin might have been forced to out of fear of her, but the Rashemi had not. And Minsc had been one of those she had almost let die below. Despite those cold eyes that were always watching her, she remembered how the woman's shell had cracked for a moment at the thought of losing Minsc. If nothing else, she cared about her guardian at least. She cared about _someone_. She could hardly say the same for Edwin.

"We have to find them," was all she said after a moment. She looked back to Xan, and then to Coran. Ajantis too. And, of course, Imoen. They would not begrudge her that. If they wouldn't do it for Jaheira and Khalid's sake, then they would do it for hers. She smiled briefly at that, sadly. She didn't deserve it.

Whatever had happened to the two half-Elves, though, she was not about to abandon them in that wood. They would find them, and at least most of everyone else agreed with her. The only one she couldn't be sure of at all was the stocky little Dwarf that accompanied them now. But, she supposed, he had nowhere else to go just then.

Yeslick had hardly hesitated before following their lead deeper into the wood in search of the other two. He had been the only survivor amongst the miners, somehow spared when he had fallen beneath a guard's corpse after an explosion of fire had nearly taken his squat head from him. Another had died in the blast as well, and tumbled over atop him. It had been enough to knock him out after so many other blows already.

Coran had been strong enough to help them too. Evelyn had awoken early that morning, but only to find the Elf up and well. And standing over her bed. She had frowned at first, but he had only grinned down at her. And then he had produced a haphazard bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

"It seems I owe you my life, sweetling," he had told her after pushing the thing into her hands. She had wondered who had told him that. They were certainly pretty enough, however, and she had wondered where he had managed to find them as well, though the forest seemed an obvious enough answer. But she hardly knew what to do with them … especially there in the middle of the Cloakwood. She had finally made an obvious display of putting them gently into her pack, so as not to hurt his feelings. He had forgotten quickly enough that it had been her fault he had ever been hurt in the first place, even if she had not.

It hadn't been long after that that she had decided that they would leave. Jaheira and Khalid had still not come back, and she was more than a little concerned by then. If nothing else, Coran was well and there was little reason not to start moving. She had seen enough of that place to last her a lifetime already.

The trail that Minsc and Coran had found, however, did not bode well. She didn't pretend not to know what one of them being dragged away with signs of struggle meant. They had been captured, that much was certain. And one of them had at least survived well enough to walk. She was almost certain that it was Jaheira. She would never have let herself be carried.

But who could have taken them was the troubling thought she mulled over for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. It hadn't been the Wyvern at least – Minsc had said that there had been ten, and they had left footprints. She wondered briefly if it might still have been Seniyad and the druids, though. They certainly had not cared for Evelyn and the others in that wood. Even Jaheira had barely managed to talk sense into the man.

But something told her that Xan was right … that whoever had taken the two hadn't been the druids they had met in the wood. And when she began to see motion all around her some time further along the path, she was beginning to realize just how right that was.

Evelyn came to a sudden stop, clutching the ashwood tight in her hands. Some of the others slowed behind her as well, and she could see no few eyes following hers into the wood about. Ajantis had his blade out without another word.

"What is it? Why do we stop?"

She rounded just in time to see the wizard striding up at their rear, scowling ahead. But he didn't see the woods shifting about him, the brush parting to give way to some beasts beyond. Evelyn could only just catch sight of fur, and some enormous bulk as they drifted in and out of view, vanishing amidst the trees. They were all around them.

The Thayan _did_ seem to notice them then. He came up short, his eyes gone wide. But that hardly kept him from thrusting a hand instantly toward the wood, shouting a few words and sending a flash of light hurtling away. It struck only bark, one of those beasts leaping out of the sight. Before he could do it again, something abruptly pounced out of the brush and toward his chest. He crashed back down to the ground with a cry.

Everyone was moving then … for what little good it did. Xan wrapped one arm around Imoen, hauling her away just as a black bear howled into sight, dropping its jaw to roar aloud at the two. Minsc had Dynaheir back behind him, tugging at the massive blade across his back even as a wolf leapt for his throat. He caught the animal by the sides, wrestling with it as he went down. The Dwarf beside him – Yeslick – managed to slam another of the pouncing beasts in the ribs with a hammer before it could take him, sending it sprawling. He started chanting under his breath.

Ajantis was pushing past Evelyn, forcing her behind him with an arm. His blade was in hand, but it was the bent and nearly useless shield in the other that met the wolf that darted before them. Another snatched at his sword with its jaws, nearly taking him down, but the ashwood staff was cracking it on the skull. Evelyn whirled around, slamming it hard into the side of the bear's skull behind her. It shook its grizzled head, snarling.

Minsc was still wrestling with the wolf, but managed to toss it from his chest. They both came back about, growling at one another. Xan had a hand up and alight with magicks to cast at the bear before him while Imoen had a dagger in hand. Yellowed jaws were baring down at the wizard from atop him. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment.

"ENOUGH!"

Someone shouted, and then something took Evelyn off her feet from below and sent her sprawling. She looked down quickly to see a weed snatching at her ankle. She kicked it away quickly, her eyes wide. But then another was coming for her, faster and thicker. It snatched her foot and dragged her back.

She could hear shouting all around her, looking up quickly only to see the others falling down all about. The grass suddenly seemed to grow everywhere around them, thickening and taking on a mind of its own as it snatched at each. The beasts pulled back for a moment, letting the vicious weeds do their work as they watched. And then everyone was down on the ground, struggling to move arms and legs. Her staff lay useless on the earth beside her.

A bear stalked out into view, and Evelyn's eyes went wide as it suddenly barked at her. And then her eyes went even wider as she watched it stand … and all of its fur fall out. Or, at least, she _thought_ that it was falling out. After a moment, though, she watched as a man suddenly stood up in place where the bear had been, nothing of the beast before left behind. But, like the animal, the man had a long flowing mane of brown hair flying down off his head, and the same dark eyes. They fixed on the men and women bound struggling on the ground.

"You have trespassed in our woods, interlopers," the man grated down at them, his eyes as firm as steel. He was completely naked. "And you bring the trappings of civilization with you into its very heart. For this we should kill you now."

Evelyn tugged viciously at her wrist, desperate to pull it free. But the weeds simply snapped her back down, even harder than before. She settled for glaring up at the man standing above them. At his face, anyways.

"But we have watched you," he continued. "We watched you enter the affront to nature that those men had constructed here in our wood. And we watched you destroy it from within. The Iron Throne has been a blight upon these forests ever since it reopened the ancient Dwarven iron mine, and for removing them we will allow you to live.

"You," the man thrust a finger toward Evelyn, and suddenly all of her binds just fell away. She scrambled quickly to her feet.

"You lead these ones, child," he stated simply, and she wondered then just how much they had really been watching them. And for how long. "Consider this your warning. Tread no further into our realm. _Leave_ this wood and never return. We will not be so lenient, or so merciful, again."

The man turned away without another word, and then she could hear the others begin moving again, standing behind her. She started forward after the man, who she was now sure was a druid.

"Wait!" she called after him, and came up short as he swiftly rounded back upon her. Those hard eyes fixed on her dangerously. But she held firm.

"We are looking for two friends of ours," she told the other then. "Half-Elves. Can you help us?"

The druid's face only hardened. "I suggest you leave now," was all he said. He started to turn away once more.

"Please," she took another step forward, "they are friends of Seniyad. Have you seen them?"

"Seniyad?" the man mused softly, though his voice was still hard as stone. He gave her a thoughtful eye. "We had wondered how it was that you had managed to come so far into the wood. Perhaps we can help you after all."

One of the other beasts beside the man suddenly vanished, its whole body seeming to shape and re-sculpt itself just as the druid's had. And then a woman was standing there, as naked as he.

"Laskal!" she hissed in warning, giving him a meaningful eye. Her hair was as brown as his, her face tattooed with some strange dyes. But the other only held up a hand.

"We will take them to the circle, Faldorn," the druid – Laskal – assured the other quickly. "I am sure that they might join these friends of theirs then." Evelyn looked from one to the other, frowning. But she smoothed her face over swiftly.

The naked woman narrowed her eyes at the other for a moment more, but then nodded her head. She even went so far as to grin. But the look she turned on Evelyn next was not comforting in the least. She returned it in kind.

Laskal was turning away, raising a hand and gesturing toward them. "Come," was all he said, and then a few more naked druids were suddenly surrounding them. The beasts trotted warily at their sides. Evelyn had no doubt that even had they refused the others help, they would not have been free to go once more.

She only picked her ashwood up from the ground, and gave both Xan and Ajantis a pointed look. They hardly needed it.

All that mattered was that they found Khalid and Jaheira. They would do what they had to after that, and hopefully leave that wood behind them for good. Until then, she tried not to think of the naked druids all around her, or the tattooed woman who took up stride at her side, giving her no few vicious glares. It was harder than she thought.

* * *

"I don't like this."

Imoen was looking ahead of them, at the sight of stone beyond the nest of pines that crowded close. They had been trudging along behind the druids for several hours, and had hardly had another word spoken to them. But when Evelyn saw what her friend was looking at, she could only agree with her.

"Oh, I don't know … I think they are actually quite pleasant." It took her a moment to realize that Coran was not talking about those large stones ahead, or the many shapes gathering around them. Rather he was casting no few glances toward the shapes moving along beside them then. "Some of them, anyways," he amended quickly.

Most of the beasts had changed into more naked men and women as they had gotten closer to whatever it was that now lay ahead, and it had not taken Evelyn long to realize that they could somehow shift from one form to another. It made her think, briefly, about all of the animals she had seen in the woods thus far, and whether not they might have been more druids in disguise. But she thought she remembered something back in Candlekeep about it … that and she was sure at least _some_ of them must have been nothing more than just animals. There could not have been enough druids for that. She hoped.

Most of them had colored their faces and bodies with dyes, tattooing strange symbols and images into their skin. Evelyn hardly knew what it all meant, but she didn't look for very long. She just tried to keep her cheeks from burning the whole way.

But Coran seemed not to have anywhere near as much trouble. He even went so far as to wink at one of the naked women as they strode along some paces away. The druid had only given him a fierce eye, and then smiled. It was not the same that the Elf had given her, though. It was almost feral. Coran, at least, seemed to notice as much, though it hardly stopped him from looking. Evelyn could see his fingertips brushing the knife at his belt. And when he caught her eyes, the wink he gave _her_ was far different.

At one point, Yeslick had pushed ahead beside her, and glared up at the raven-haired woman as he tried to keep stride on his stout legs.

"Ye know this be a trap, lass, don't ye?" he had whispered harshly down at her elbow. He had hardly dressed himself in more than a loose tunic he had snagged from a dead guard's clothing chest that hung down far past his waist. But he had kept that same hammer he had stolen from somewhere on a loop down at his side. "I didn' escape me prison only ta let meself be taken prisoner again!" It was the first time he had actually spoken to her since she had set him free back in the mines. Her eyes flashed briefly to Xan. She seemed to be making a habit of that lately.

She glanced down at him, canting her head simply. But she didn't speak. She didn't want to take the chance that the druids might realize she wasn't as fooled as they seemed to think. For some reason, they had taken Khalid and Jaheira, and not without a fight. They needed to find them before they did anything rash. The Dwarf only scowled.

"Just be ready," she finally said after a time. He didn't seem to like it, but it wasn't as if they had had any other choice. They weren't just going to leave Jaheira and Khalid behind. She took enough time, carefully while they walked, to make sure that each of the others knew that.

But as they strode out into a large clearing, watching the dozens upon dozens of men and women milling about in thick robes, she was suddenly less certain of their chances.

There was a large circle of stones in the middle of the clearing, shaped and rounded into long shapes sticking out of the ground. They all seemed to gather around one large stone in the middle, that one spearing up into the sky. At the opposite end of the clearing was an archway of stone. Druids – she was sure that was what they all were – were gathered everywhere around it.

It was nearly night – dusk had already begun to settle in. And she began to realize, as they got closer, that those robed figures were hardly just milling about. They were gathered in small pockets, talking quietly with one another. But they were getting ready for something … of that, she was certain.

Some of those robed druids took notice of them, approaching the band of naked ones escorting Evelyn and the others and bearing several bundles in their arms. Evelyn could just make out masks beneath their cowls, hiding their faces. She wasn't sure, but it seemed like they were carved out of wood to look like animals.

_So many_, she thought hopelessly for a moment, glancing around once more to all those druids. But no … she steeled herself with a deep breath. They were not giving up that easy.

She eyed Ajantis, but the doubt she saw there was not for the druids. He gave her a firm nod.

Laskal strode forward and took one of those bundles from another druid, not hesitating before wrapping them about himself and covering up his nakedness. The other druids around them all did the same. For a moment, it helped Evelyn feel just that much more comfortable, though it wasn't much. There was something about naked people attacking her that just seemed so much worse than when they were wearing clothes. But it hardly mattered in the end.

It was then that she saw Jaheira and Khalid. The two were on the ground on another side of the clearing, surrounded by three robed druids. The half-Elven man had his wife in his arms, her eyes closed and her body hanging limp. His two dark eyes fixed on Evelyn, and he seemed almost as if he would leap to his feet or start yelling to them. But one wary eye to his seeming guards told her all that she needed to know. She turned to Laskal.

"Our friends?" she asked. The man nodded, reaching down to retrieve a mask of his own in the shape of a bear. He had watched her eyes.

"Will not be leaving, I am afraid," was all he said, calmly. It was all she needed.

Without another word, the ashwood staff was up and slamming straight into the other's face before he could put on his mask. Blood streamed out of his nose as it broke, and he tumbled over and down. She spun around in the next instant, taking another of the druids off his feet. The next was lying on her back before she could even open her mouth to cry out.

"Now!" she shouted back over her shoulder as loud as she could. They knew well what was coming, though.

But someone else was howling in rage and surprise then, and Eve spun around to see that it was the tattooed woman who had been glaring at her the whole way there. Faldorn came at her, still naked, hands thrown up as if she meant to claw out the raven-haired woman's eyes. Before she could, however, Ajantis slammed his shield into her side, sending her sprawling.

They fanned out, even as druids suddenly started chanting all around them. Minsc stayed closed to Dynaheir, though that did not stop him from grabbing two of the naked men closest to him and tossing them bodily from their feet. The Rashemi witch knocked down another three, hurling balls of fire and glowing light that sent them tumbling away along the ground. And then Xan was throwing into the fray as well, and the last of the men and women around them were lying scattered across the earth.

They had known what to do. And Evelyn hardly wasted a moment.

She was flying away toward Khalid and Jaheira, staff in hand with Ajantis and Imoen trailing close behind. A druid threw himself up in her path, and she heard him gasp beneath his mask in surprise. The ashwood was cracking across his skull before he could even raise a hand, and she was whirling over and around him as he collapsed without missing a step.

The druids that had been gathered about the stone circles certainly noticed them then. Or at least they knew that something was terribly wrong. Voices started crying up all around them. She wasn't sure if they were chanting or not.

There was a man out of the corner of her eye, muttering loudly and waving his hands toward them. An arrow took him in the shoulder and sent him twisting violently down into the ground. Evelyn only glanced briefly over her own shoulder toward Coran behind, knowing that he had missed the man's heart on purpose. She had warned them not to kill any of the druids. Whatever was going on there, the druids had let them be in peace before. They would simply return the favor … just a little less so.

But Khalid leapt up at the sight of them suddenly barreling toward him, snatching free a cudgel from the side of one of his druid guards from behind and smashing it across the man's skull. The one next to him had his in hand then, but not in time to avoid the half-Elf sending him tumbling back and over into the ground. The last swung at him, but he ducked beneath the blow and shoved his own length of wood up hard beneath the man's ribs. And then he had Jaheira in his arms and was running to meet them.

There was no mistaking the chanting now. She could see arms waving even as men and women shouted at them from around the stone circle. Evelyn just barely avoided some lashing weeds beneath her as they rose up and thrashed like tentacles, though she could hear the knight behind her suddenly stumble. Imoen paused long enough to send a knife hurtling into the chest of one of the druids. She went down, but she would live.

And then Imoen cried out as she tumbled over to the ground.

Evelyn rounded on the other two, but only as Khalid came up beside her. Ajantis had already cut himself free, and Imoen was doing the same beside him with one of her knives. And then they were both up again, and charging back toward the others.

Edwin was hurling fire into druids as they stood chanting, throwing them back off their feet with flaming robes even as he turned to scour the earth around him. A circle of dead vines surrounded him on nearly all sides.

She caught sight of the Dwarf suddenly throwing himself into a pack of robed men and women, snatching at the hems of one before they could stop him and sending him crashing into another. Minsc leapt up beside him, massive fist taking the third in the nose. Vines snatched at his arm, but he ripped it away.

"Run!"

Evelyn shouted at them, already dashing back toward the path they had first come along. She passed one of the naked druids on the ground, the man starting to get back to his feet, and kicked him in the face before hurrying on. Minsc and Yeslick tore away and after her, Dynaheir and Edwin still casting fire and light at any robed figure behind that still moved. Xan came up fast at her side.

Just as they reached the trees, though, two branches suddenly swept down and took Minsc and Ajantis clear off their feet. Evelyn managed to duck ahead into a roll beneath them, but then more were swinging down, and suddenly Dynaheir, Edwin and Xan followed the other two. Imoen managed to throw herself aside. Yeslick was too short.

Evelyn rounded instantly, looking back toward the clearing. There was one solitary robed figure striding out from before the others, arms spread wide before him. She caught sight of Coran, readying an arrow for the man, but suddenly a root stabbed up from the earth and wrapped around his chest. In the next instant it twisted him sideways and sent him hurtling away.

The earth exploded upwards from behind her then, and Evelyn was suddenly flying through the air as well. She hit the ground a dozen paces ahead, just barely managing to turn her fall into a roll before she was back up on her feet. That hardly stopped the ground from bursting up in front of her again, however, and sending her sprawling onto her back.

The others were all around her, suffering the same fate and worse. She couldn't see anymore as earth was splattering everywhere, raining down as it exploded all around. But she threw herself back to her feet once more, and darted ahead toward that lone figure.

There was still one chance for escape … but she knew it was that one robed druid that was keeping them from it. The other masked men and women stood back, watching. And when the lone druid came in sight, she was suddenly flying forward as fast as she could across the earth.

"RUN!" she screamed back toward the others behind her. Whatever happened, she doubted that she would be getting away.

She could hear magicks still bursting frantically behind her, but she hardly noticed. The earth was exploding all about, sending streams of dirt and grass into the air, flying into the sky in great gouts. She leapt about them, rolling along the ground whenever one came too close and knocked her from her feet. It was maddening – she hardly knew which way she was going anymore.

But then he was before her.

She could see the man's mask – a lion. She didn't have her staff anymore, but she hardly needed it. She was leaping toward him in an instant, hands flying before her.

She howled as her fist took the man in the face. He reeled back from the blow, his mask flying free. For one brief moment, she caught a glimpse of that face. It was craggy and scarred, with one long line of white down across a milk-white eye. It bobbed like a hard-boiled egg in his head, fastening swiftly on her. He scowled, bringing himself back. But she leapt up and sent another boot flying into his head.

The man tumbled over and to the ground, and she was staring at a ring of druids then. She screamed at them, ready to leap, but vines and roots were suddenly twisting up from the earth, wrapping about her legs and staying them swiftly. She thrashed around wildly with her arms, slashing at them and tearing herself free. But they just kept coming … and soon she stopped fighting it at all.

She looked up, baring her teeth at the druids all around. It didn't matter anymore. She had taken the one druid down. The others could get away. They could have her if they wanted.

She tried to laugh at them. She wouldn't let them think she was afraid.

But Evelyn felt something thick snaking up around her legs, crawling quickly up until it was wrapping around her waist. She had stopped thrashing, but then she was desperately trying to keep the thing from squeezing her. She cried out as it began crushing her chest, forgetting all the druids for a moment.

Someone else screamed … she wasn't sure who. It might have been her. But then the vines and roots were clawing up toward her skull, scraping roughly along her skin.

She glanced up, her arms frozen, just in time to see the one-eyed druid climb back to his feet. And then another was closing in from the side. A piece of wood swung in for her face.

And then everything went black.


	45. Chapter 5 Masks and Moonlight

_**Masks and Moonlight**_

The first thing Evelyn felt … was her head.

She was lying face down on the ground, her arms and legs twisted oddly. But they weren't broken, she quickly realized as she pulled them to her. Someone, or some_thing_, had thrown her down into the grass. She tried to lift herself up.

The second thing she felt … was the hot breath on her neck.

Glancing up quickly, it was just in time to see the large jaws hovering over her head, two yellow eyes bearing down on her. She hardly needed to see the rest of the thing to know just what they belonged to. And as she looked up, frozen in sudden terror, the Wyvern above her opened its mouth wide … and roared.

She threw herself backward with a sharp cry, sure that a barbed tail would come flashing toward her soon enough. But she heard laughter suddenly instead, and cast her eyes frantically about. There were dark shapes huddled in a wide circle all around her. Some of them were laughing beneath their masks.

The Wyvern hissed at her. And it was then that she realized that it wasn't moving. She looked up, only to see ropes roaming all across its body and pinning it to the ground. Even its barbed tail was carefully fastened. But, no … _not ropes_, she thought suddenly then. They were vines and roots, just like she had seen before. The thing snapped its jaws at her with blind hate.

She climbed slowly to her feet, glancing toward the druids around her once more. The circle was incredibly wide, leaving a vast space between them and her and the bound Wyvern, a large clearing spreading out about her. She started to take a few steps back, not caring if the thing was bound or not. But then her foot suddenly struck something behind, and she tripped.

She stumbled back over and down, only to hear a groan from beneath her. It soon turned into a hand reaching up to swat her legs across its face aside, however, as she struggled to get back up.

"Hanali be merciful …" the thing moaned, and then she suddenly recognized its voice.

"Coran?" she whispered fiercely, feeling her heart fall. Whatever was to become of her, she had just hoped that all of the others had escaped. The man shook his head.

"You always seem to be there when I awake, sweetling," he was fixing his blue eyes on her wearily in the dark, still trying to rattle his brains. "I am beginning to wonder why it is always with a headache."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded angrily of a sudden. "Did the others get away?"

The man almost didn't seem to hear her. But then he stopped shaking his head, and thrust an arm past her shoulder. "I dare say you could ask them yourself, sweetling."

And as she glanced back around and saw the mess of huddled dark shapes behind her, she felt the last of her hopes fall.

She glanced back at the Elf, but he didn't have his weapon. She doubted any of the others did either. But when she thrust a hand toward her belt, Fuller's dagger was still there.

"Come on!" she whispered fiercely to the Elf, and then leapt over toward the first form she found in the dark. It was Xan.

"Wake up!" she started slapping the man quickly on either side of his face. After a moment he was wincing, and groaning as he snatched at her hands. She didn't give him a chance. She was already darting away toward someone else.

Coran followed suit, and was shaking others awake beside her. They weren't fast enough, though, and soon she could hear a voice break in behind them.

"I suggest you remain still." Evelyn was whipping about instantly toward the voice, recognizing it just as quickly. "It will make things easier for you in the end."

There were only three robed druids standing there before them, and she could see the first's mask beneath the moonlight. It was some sort of dark cat. But she was sure that it was the tattooed woman who had wanted to claw out her eyes – Faldorn.

She leapt to her feet, ready to return the favor. But the woman and her two companions brought hands up instantly in warning.

"I would not risk it, city-dweller," Faldorn growled irritably. "Archdruid Amarande has already decided to show you _much_ mercy."

Whatever the other woman's words, Eve did not doubt that she was as eager to pounce on the other woman as she was her – with her bare hands if need be. It only gave Evelyn a moment's pause, however, before she was twisting away and back to waking the others around.

"Tonight is the night of the Shadowclave," the cat-masked woman announced, hardly seeming to care overly much just what the others did then. "And the Archdruid has already prepared the festivities for the evening."

She swept one hand aside, gesturing toward the Wyvern grandly. It hissed back at her, and Evelyn spared them both a glance.

"It was found by some of our brothers and sisters, harassing the wood with its hunting. They proved too much for the beast, however, and brought it swiftly to heel.

"You should feel honored," Faldorn continued after another moment, and Evelyn could almost feel her smiling at her back. "For tonight you will feel the cleansing might of nature's wrath!"

"Jaheira," she was shaking the half-Elven woman awake then. Khalid was already by her side. The druid blinked her eyes up at the young woman.

"Evelyn?" she voiced weakly. And then she suddenly frowned. "What are you doing here?" Her words seemed to gain strength then with the anger that filled her eyes. It did not take her long to realize just how they had gotten there.

"You should not have followed us," she warned irritably, cutting the raven-haired woman off abruptly before she could answer. There was something else there in her eyes as she studied Evelyn briefly, but then she was standing. "Khalid and I could have handled matters ourselves."

But her husband seemed somewhat less inclined to agree.

"J-Jaheira …"

"You!" the half-Elven woman was pushing past them both, stabbing a finger toward the robed woman. "What is the meaning of this? By the authority of the Archdruids, you have no right to keep us here!"

The cat-masked woman only smiled beneath her mask at the other though, hardly daunted. "Oh, but it is by the authority of an Archdruid that you are here, Jaheira."

"F-Faldorn?" Jaheira stiffened abruptly. But then she was bristling with anger anew. "Shadow Circle scum! I knew Seniyad was right to turn you away!"

The other woman removed her mask then, grinning all the more. "But Amarande was of a different mind. He saw well my potential."

"Your potential ignorance, you foolish child! Your potential to be misled and deceived!"

"Enough!" Faldorn snapped, stabbing a hand toward the ground. "Amarande is no longer but one voice. He is many. And soon … he will be all. The other fool druids of your order will be purged so that Nature's will might be done soon enough!"

But Jaheira was only shaking her head.

"Look around you, Jaheira!" the other woman continued. "Do you know what tonight is? You will very soon."

"Seniyad will not allow this travesty to continue unchecked within his wood. That Amarande has somehow escaped unpunished for what he has been will be rectified soon enough!"

Faldorn was laughing then, the sound cruel and rich. Evelyn cast another glance around toward the ring of druids that surrounded them. There were too many. Far, far too many.

"Seniyad is weak, Jaheira … as are you! You both will be cleansed … and the Great Mother's wrath will see it done!"

"I will show you just how weak I am, Shadow fool!" the half-Elven woman hissed at her. "I challenge you!"

Evelyn felt her knuckles crack, and she readied herself to leap for the robed woman as soon as Jaheira did the same. But Coran suddenly had a hand on her arm, staying her swiftly. She glanced up at him in surprise.

"I would not interfere, sweetling," he warned quietly. "Best not to come between two women in full wrath. The end is never pleasant."

She gave him a hard eye, but he wasn't looking at her. And Jaheira remained where she was. Faldorn leveled her gaze on the half-Elven woman steadily.

"I think not, Jaheira." She shook her head. "Your fate has already been decided." She threw her head back, her eyes almost wild. "Tonight … is the Shadowclave. And tomorrow … tomorrow the old order will be cleansed. A pity that you will not live to see it."

Faldorn turned abruptly on her heel, striding away with the other robed druids in tow without another word. Jaheira glared daggers at the woman's back the whole way.

"What are they going to do?" Imoen was demanding then, snatching a knife out from somewhere in her pink coat. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the Wyvern that snapped its jaws once more at them. But she still had her daggers at least. No few of the others seemed to have lost their weapons.

"I think the answer obvious enough," Xan responded grimly, coming to stand and glancing toward the beast as well. He took in the druids with one slow sweep of his brown eyes.

"Why did they not simply kill us?" a voice grated anyways, and Evelyn glanced over to see the Dwarf shaking his bearded head. Coran grinned ruefully behind him.

"Sport."

"You fool wench!"

Evelyn rounded abruptly to see Edwin stalking toward her and waving an angry finger.

"You have endangered the life of a great wizard for the last time! I will see you burned alive before I meet my end because of _you_!"

The man made no move to cast his magicks just then, but she could see Ajantis shifting quickly beside her. He had no sword or shield in hand, but he put himself between them even so.

"You will not lay a hand on her, wizard!" the knight voiced darkly down at the other, glaring hard into his eyes. Evelyn could even see Minsc step up beside him. Dynaheir watched calmly from one side.

Some of the anger seemed to bleed out of the Thayan, as he glanced from first one man to the other. The Wyvern hissed at them once more. Edwin narrowed his eyes, scowling, and then lifted one hand.

"Enough!"

Someone bellowed loudly, and it took Evelyn a moment to realize that it had been one of the druids. The circle around them had not been silent, and distant voices had whispered in their ears from all around. But now they were quiet, and they turned to see one robed figure stride through their midst, several others in tow. Evelyn could see the lion mask upon the lead druid easily enough. And there was another hidden beneath the face of a cat by his side.

"Tonight, my brothers and sisters of the wood, you well know, is the Shadowclave." The figure held its arms up wide so that all might see him, and his voice echoed about the large clearing, deep and powerful. "But before we adjoin to discuss the pending matter at hand, we have but one to attend to first.

"For too long have our brothers and sisters of this wood lived in fear!" he continued loudly, that lion's mask sweeping slowly about. "For too long have we lived in cowardice and trepidation. For too long have the arrogant powers of man reigned supreme beyond our borders and threatened to break nature to its will! For too long have we sat and watched as our beloved order dwindled in strength and our beloved Great Mother fall prey to ambition, greed, and disease!"

Evelyn glanced quickly about. But everyone else was silent. For a moment, she could have hoped that those robed figures were hardly heeding the words of the other – they certainly didn't sound very comforting to her at _all_. But she realized all too quickly that it was a respectful silence they maintained then, otherwise she was sure they might have been cheering at each word the man spoke. Jaheira was baring her teeth beside her.

"Tonight, my brothers and sisters, the orders of pacifism and weakness will betray us no longer! The will and wrath of nature will no longer be subdued beneath a pall of cowardice and compassion! All those who tread in nature's realm will bow down to her might … or else they will be felled by the vengeful rage that has already grown too strong within her bosom …"

That one-eyed face beneath its mask turned slowly back toward them then. She could feel its scorn even from there.

"She demands sacrifice, my brothers and sisters … and we will give her but the first taste of what her wrath is due!"

The Wyvern seemed to bellow aloud almost as if on cue, and the robed druid rounded on it swiftly.

"Behold!" the man cried out, his voice trembling with brutal passion. "This beast wrenched free from the bosom of our beloved Great Mother herself! It is but one of her many barbs to cast back at the world of man! And they will come to respect her love as we have."

"AMARANDE!"

Jaheira was screaming vengefully toward the lion-masked man, her voice filled with hate and loathing. Her knuckles cracked loudly at her sides.

"No, Jaheira!" the man responded simply. "Your fate is sealed. As are all of these trespassers from the city you bring into our realm. As are all of your ill-bred kind after this night. Weakness dies this night!" He gestured once more toward the bound beast. "Tonight we will show just how paltry the strength of man is against the wrath of the Great Mother herself!

"RELEASE IT!"

Evelyn whipped her eyes back around toward the Wyvern, watching in horror as the vines and roots that had held it fast to the ground suddenly snapped upward and away, slinking back down quickly into the earth. It slowly rose to its two thick, clawed feet.

Jaheira was still glaring at the lion-masked man, but the robed druid had turned away. Her chest rose and fell quickly, angrily, but the man would not watch from the fore. The circle closed back about as he passed through.

The Wyvern shook its tufted head, snapping its jaws. Had the druids any fear of it suddenly turning on them, they didn't show it. Evelyn somehow doubted that it would. Those two yellow eyes seemed to recognize them all too well. It thrust its head forward, bellowing loud.

Evelyn cast about, but they had almost no weapons amongst them. And Imoen's knives would hardly have been enough. Jaheira was still staring off wide-eyed after the Archdruid. All of the others had their eyes fixed on the massive beast before them. She could see Edwin slowly edging backward behind.

"Eeeve …" Imoen was suddenly looking at her friend with a terrified look on her face then. It was mirrored in Yeslick's own as he swallowed beside her. Even Coran seemed as if he would rather try his luck at the druids around them. Minsc was all but foaming where he stood, standing between it and Dynaheir. Xan only looked grim.

The Wyvern started stomping slowly toward them.

She pulled free Fuller's dagger then, clutching it tightly in her hand. "Edwin! Dynaheir!" she screamed, the Rashemi looking at her hard while the Thayan only scowled, still backing away. The dark-skinned woman nodded.

"NO!" Ajantis was pushing her aside. "They will not let us live no matter what we do!" He forced Evelyn behind her, and rounded on the beast as it stormed closer. "Save your magicks for the druids! Go!" Evelyn only stared up at him, wide-eyed. "GO!"

Before anyone else could say or do anything, the knight was charging forward, howling aloud as he made for the great beast stomping toward them. It opened its jaws wide in reply, hissing right back.

"Foolish boy!" the Dwarf grunted from behind.

"He is right!" Xan rounded back on them, throwing his hands up and readying a spell for the druids behind them. Dynaheir followed him swiftly enough, shouting loud as her arms spread wide. It was only another moment before Edwin was chanting beside her as well.

Jaheira screamed, unheeding of the others. And then she was tearing forward and away, straight after where Amarande had vanished through the ring. The druids had been ready, though, and suddenly vines and roots were whipping up into the air before the circle, barring their path. A gout of earth exploded in front of the dusky-skinned woman, sending her tumbling over onto her back.

Ajantis was closing with the beast then, and suddenly leaping forward as it came to a stop before him. Those massive jaws just barely missed the man's boots as he dove under its wing, but that did not stop it from rounding instantly upon him and stabbing its barbed tail down into the ground. He rolled aside, a fountain of torn earth exploding beside him. The jaws came for him again.

Magic was tearing into the druids behind them, but Evelyn only watched as fire was suddenly swallowed in mounds of earth, bursting harmlessly against dirt as it rose all around. Dynaheir and Edwin kept firing, desperate to reach any opening they could find. Xan pulled back swiftly, however, letting his magicks die. He knew all too well how futile it would be.

Amarande was back in sight, lion-masked face twisting as he summoned those fountains of earth all about them. Khalid pulled Jaheira quickly back up, trying to wrench her away. But she only bared her teeth, and then started chanting as well.

Ajantis got back to his feet, but only to be knocked aside as the Wyvern flapped one of its leathery wings, hammering him in the chest. He tumbled over along the ground, and two clawed feet came stomping after.

Minsc tore forward, roaring as he closed on the beast from behind. Dynaheir turned long enough to scream at the giant of a man, but it hardly stopped him. In another moment he had leapt into the air and taken that barbed tail between his hands before it could flash down toward the knight. The Wyvern hissed at him from across its back.

"What do we do, Eve?" Imoen was shouting over the tumult, drawing close. Her best friend hardly had an answer for her, though. Coran was scowling at the druids from beside her. Yeslick was wringing his broad hands, but they would have hardly had enough time to reach any druid necks.

The moon suddenly clouded over, and she glanced up quickly to the night sky above. It was only to see dark thunderheads swirling into place and rumbling across the heavens, though. But there was no rain.

Lightning stabbed across the sky, and Evelyn screamed out in surprise as it flashed down toward them. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as it crackled over them. But then it moved past, striking toward Jaheira instead. It all happened in an instant.

The lightning lanced over the half-Elven woman's head, stabbing straight toward the lion-masked man as he stood before her. Her hands were up, spread wide as she screamed words at him over the thunder that clapped loudly then. The man exploded in a flash of light, and half a dozen druids around him suddenly hurtled away in all directions. Evelyn had to throw an arm across her eyes.

When she looked again, however, Amarande was still standing. And this time he was shouting right back at the other. Lightning flashed out of the sky again, this time straight for Jaheira. She somehow managed to turn it aside with a hand, but it shook her visibly. Khalid went flying into the air beside her and burst through a pack of robed druids.

The Wyvern was roaring, and then she could see Minsc flying free from its tail and whipping away. A mass of vines caught him before he could barrel into the ring of druids, though, and thrust him back into the ring. The Wyvern rounded on Ajantis.

"Stay back!" she cried at Imoen. It was all she could think to tell her to do. And then she was darting forward herself toward the beast, dagger in hand.

"What are you doing!?" Coran roared after her, and then was tearing along after quickly. He would not catch her, though.

Ajantis climbed back to his feet, looking up as the Wyvern then closed in on him slowly. The barbed tail was flicking behind its scaly head. Then he saw her coming.

"No! Stay back!"

Before she could reach him, however, the barb flashed down to meet him. It hammered into the side of his chest, and stabbed him down into the ground. She cried out in horror, and then it rounded on her.

Imoen was at her side, and so was Coran. The pink-haired woman threw a knife at the beast as it opened its jaws wide to meet them. That great tufted head snapped back in surprise, and her best friend was pulling her back.

"Come on, Eve!"

Coran pushed the two women behind him, and all three were quickly edging back and away. But the thing just started stomping right after them.

Edwin was still hurling fire, one massive ball exploding and managing to knock a crowd of druids back off their feet. Amarande was trading lightning with Jaheira, but the half-Elven woman was on her knees now, desperate to hold him back. Pockets began to open up in the circle, but not nearly enough. And roots and vines began to tear at the Rashemi witch and the Thayan as well, frantic to take them down. Yeslick managed to beat some of them away as they snapped toward him. Khalid and Minsc were nowhere in sight.

Xan joined Coran, hands held high, though he knew they would have done little good. The Wyvern only stomped closer, bearing down on them. There was nowhere left to go.

"Blasted _tree-worshippers_!" Yeslick howled angrily from one side, wrenching a thick arm free from more weeds. "At least me hole was made o' stone!"

Vines and roots leapt into the air before them, and Coran and Xan forced the two women back. They grew thicker and thicker, and longer and longer … and, for a brief moment, Evelyn wondered which death might have been worse. She almost laughed at that. But it passed.

But those vines and roots didn't come for them then. Instead, they turned on the Wyvern.

The beast howled and snapped, crying out in rage as it was suddenly bound once more, thick tendrils snaking up from the earth to wrap around its tufted, scaly body. They snapped down on it, and it hissed. And then they sucked it down toward the ground.

Great talons clawed at the earth, the thing snapping its jaws just before them. Its barbed tail whipped up, but was suddenly snatched back down. It hissed once more. And then they all heard bone snap.

Dynaheir had stopped throwing magic, though Edwin barely paused beside her. They both pulled back, casting looks of surprise toward the dead beast, its tongue lolling out of its large mouth. Yeslick stopped muttering curses beside them. And the whole clearing seemed to grow deathly quiet then. The wizard started to laugh, thrusting his hands up once more and ready.

Evelyn glanced over quickly, but only to see Jaheira all but writhing on the ground, another bolt of lightning just barely turned aside. Amarande was standing over her, a rictus grin on his face as he prepared to summon another. It was only then that he realized that the Wyvern lay dead.

The Archdruid glanced around in surprise, but none of the other druids still standing seemed to be able to offer him any more word.

It was only a moment more before they got their answer.

The earth suddenly exploded upward from behind, and Evelyn whirled around only to see a line of druids vanish from sight. Branches abruptly started snaking down, snatching up others off their feet and sending them hurtling away into the wood. Screams filled the night.

The ground settled briefly once more, and then a man was striding through the dust and falling grass. Evelyn recognized that silver-flecked mane of dark hair and sun-browned, wrinkled skin almost immediately. Seniyad moved calmly over the fallen forms of robed druids beneath him, a pack of men in furs swarming in behind. He stopped just inside the broken circle.

"This Shadowclave … is adjourned."

Amarande took an involuntary step back, but he recovered quickly enough. Thrusting one arm forward, he began howling aloud to the robed druids still standing about him.

"Kill them, my brothers and sisters! CLEANSE THE WOOD!"

And then the whole clearing just exploded.

Great gouts of earth were bursting everywhere while lightning streaked the sky, trees snapping branches down and throwing men from their feet while vines clawed up from the ground to snatch others away. Men were flying and screaming and dying everywhere. And Evelyn and the others were standing right in the middle of it.

She was charging forward, hurrying to Jaheira's side and helping the other woman up. Amarande strode forward beside them, but he hardly paid them any heed. As he picked up speed, hurtling into the clearing, his robes suddenly burst apart around him and a one-eyed lion was charging away. Evelyn only caught sight of a massive, silver-streaked bear howling forth to meet it.

"Jaheira!" she cried at the other woman over the uproar, hauling her desperately to her feet. Coran and Xan were at her side in an instant, Dynaheir and Edwin close behind. The Dwarf was pumping his stocky legs up last.

One of the robed druids was rushing toward them, and it only took Evelyn a moment to recognize that cat-faced mask. Faldorn came up suddenly short, however, her eyes going wide beneath the mask as she looked past them to where the lion and the silver bear were wrestling around on the earth. And then she suddenly burst free from her robes as well, and a panther was leaping back and away into the wood.

"Khalid," Jaheira grunted as Evelyn took her by one arm, Xan by the other. Eve looked forward, following the woman's eyes. The half-Elven man was there, standing over the bodies of two robed druids. He hurried to meet them.

He took his wife quickly into his arms, and then looked toward the clearing as it still exploded about. He started pulling swiftly away.

"This is n-not our fight."

"Minsc!"

Dynaheir shouted, and then Evelyn turned to see the giant Rashemi suddenly burst through a gout of earth, dust flying down around him. Someone was draped across his shoulder.

Eve watched as the whole world seemed to turn inside out before them, men still screaming and howling everywhere out of sight. She was all too inclined to agree with the other as she caught another brief sight of the lion and the bear barreling into each other once more.

Someone pulled her away.


	46. Chapter 5 The Circle Closed

_**The Circle Closed**_

"I told you to stay out of our affairs!"

Seniyad was bearing down angrily on the half-Elven woman, his eyes glinting and dark. He sported no few deep furrows along his bared chest and brow. He had only just redressed in his furs.

"As if I had a choice, Seniyad!" Jaheira was snapping right back at him. "We were looking for _you_ when they surrounded us in the wood!"

The old man tore away, growling beneath his breath. For her part, Evelyn still couldn't believe that that old man had been a towering, silver-backed bear mere moments before. Little of the ferocity he had shown then had faded. But he shook his head ever so slightly.

"I suppose I should be thanking you," he said quietly without looking at the other after a moment. "Had we not found your trail, we would not have been able to follow it to their gathering."

Evelyn looked past the old man, over back into the clearing that was now just so many lumps of upturned earth and holes. There were bodies still strewn all about, though men in furs were moving all over to clear them from the torn battlefield. The Wyvern's, no one had touched just yet.

It had been Seniyad who had killed the beast, of that there was no doubt. But it was the naked man lying in the middle of field near it that the old man was staring at then as well. The bear had bested the lion, and the Shadow druids had all been scattered and broken. That one eye was still staring.

"The balance has been preserved here this night," Seniyad was saying then, rounding slowly back upon Jaheira. The woman had recovered quickly from her bout with the now dead Shadow Archdruid, thanks in large part to the many druids that were still scattered about. "But their sect has hardly been destroyed. This wood might be safe for now, but others will always be threatened."

"I know, old friend," the half-Elven woman came up beside him with a comforting hand to his shoulder, "I know."

Evelyn turned away then, ignoring the rest of what they would say. Whatever insanity they had stumbled into last night, she was just glad that it was over. Instead she made her way across the length of the stone circle until she came upon Yeslick, the Dwarf standing over a man laid flat against the ground. She knelt down at his side.

Ajantis opened his eyes as she neared, glancing up at her. His sword was at his side, as was his bent shield. They had found their weapons quickly enough soon after leaving the fight behind, Xan somehow sensing exactly where the druids had apparently buried them in the earth. The man looked briefly toward them as well.

"I had always imagined that I would die with sword and shield in hand," he mused softly to her after a moment. "Until last night, I had not realized how useless a death that really was. It meant nothing."

Yeslick only grunted. He had been watching over the knight ever since Minsc had lain him down after the battle, though he had protested regularly that he hardly had the power to heal the man. There had been enough druids around afterwards to do just that, though the Wyvern's poison had only just nicked him. A whole portion of his mail armor had been torn away at his side. But he had survived.

"I'm supposin' you can look after him now, lass," the Dwarf muttered. And then he turned quickly away without bothering to wait for her answer. She could only feel sorry for him, and hardly irritated, though. It was their fault that he had nearly died for a second time in just a handful of days. She let him go.

"But promise me," Ajantis was saying to her. "Should I not betray my service again … Promise me that you will bury me with both should I die, my Lady."

"Evelyn," she corrected him, frowning, and not sure whether she cared for that promise at all. If he was ever going to die, it wasn't going to be for her, or in service to her, or anything. And if he did, well … he could just bury himself for ever being so foolish again.

"Evelyn," he repeated. He closed his eyes briefly. He might have been lucky, but the Wyvern had still beaten him senseless. Not to mention poisoned him, even if it was just a little. Seniyad had promised to see to his swift recovery after he was finished surveying the damage done by the battle last night. He still wanted them gone from his wood as quickly as possible. They had already overstayed their welcome.

"That was a very foolish thing you did, Ajantis," she spoke slowly down at him, frowning even deeper. "You should have been killed." The man fixed an eye up on her. And then he sighed.

"I should have been. Then Helm would have forgiven me, I think. But he could not have accepted my death before yours, … Evelyn. And I trusted that you would find a way to escape."

She wasn't quite sure what to say to that, but he wasn't listening to her anyways, so she narrowed her eyes instead. There would have been no escape from the druids last night. They had been more than lucky. If Seniyad had not come … if the druids had not saved them … she hardly dared think just what might have happened then.

A good many of them probably swimming around in _pieces_ in a Wyvern's stomach …

_No_ … She had to squeeze her eyes shut briefly to banish the thought from mind. She wasn't going to think about it. It was over.

"You are a very talented and remarkable young woman, my Lady," the knight was telling her, however. She looked back down at him. "I did not doubt that you would survive for a moment."

But that had hardly stopped him from nearly getting himself killed for her sake. For all of their sakes. She shook her head, but said nothing.

The light of morning was just beginning to crest the trees above them, and she squinted up at it, her face grim. She had hardly thought much of that place before everything that had happened, but now she couldn't wait to leave. Whatever she would do next, it would be somewhere far away from there.

"What will you do now?" the knight echoed her thoughts suddenly, following her eyes up and away. But then he had fixed back on her. She looked down at him.

She remembered just what that man had said below in the mines – what Davaeorn had said just before he had attacked them … before that demon had taken her over and worn her face to kill him. There had only ever been _one_ man who had wanted her dead. And Tazok was only his pawn. She smiled sadly down at the knight, not really seeing him.

"I'm going to find Sarevok Anchev," she told him simply. And then her smile faded. "And I'm going to kill him."

The other blinked up at her, and then reached a hand aside for his sword. He didn't say anything, but she frowned all the same. She could very well guess just what he meant.

But Elminster's words came back to her then, and she stopped looking at the other. He had been right. She would need them. She would need all of the help she could get. She might not have found her father's murderer, or even Kivan's revenge. But she knew his name now at least. And she would find him soon enough.

"My Lady …"

She turned her attention back down toward the knight once again. His face had become hard and grim. He seemed to struggle with his words just then.

"There is something," he began, his dark eyes flashing up toward her briefly before fixing thoughtfully away once more. He frowned, his brow furrowing. "There is something … There is a blackness about you, my Lady."

He saw the look in her eyes of a sudden then, and seemed to hesitate. He shook his head slowly there on the ground, swallowing.

"I saw it in your eyes that day," he continued. She knew all too well just what he meant. "And I believe I saw it in you that night you died." He closed his eyes briefly, and then he fixed her firmly anew. "But it was not you, my Lady Evelyn," his voice was suddenly angry, and he almost spat the words at her. "It was _not_ you."

His gauntleted hand was clutching fiercely at hers.

"I can see plainly before me the difference … and I think that Helm has called me forth to an even greater duty than I had ever realized. This is the _true_ test of my faith, my Lady. He has put it before me in _you_.

"I will protect you from everything, my Lady Evelyn … even yourself. Most especially yourself. Whatever that _thing_ was … it was not you. And it will be my solemn duty to see that it never is, on pain of my death. I promise you that … with all that I am."

She was shaking her head slowly down at him. But it was little use. He knew nothing … nothing at all … It would have _killed_ him without a second thought … and he could never have stopped it. _She _could hardly stop it. Helm had not put it there. No _god_ had put it there. Whatever it was, it was stronger than him … it was stronger than _her_ … but she clasped his hand back tightly, still shaking her head sadly. What could she possibly tell him?

He was swearing himself to death … she could see it all too clearly before her eyes. Whatever he said … she would have to protect _him_. But the ferocity in his dark eyes then almost made her believe … she wanted to … almost …

But no.

She broke his grip on her, standing. And then she took a deep, trembling breath. The knight was still watching her fiercely, but she had control. She would keep control until they found the beast that had begun all of this and killed him. Sarevok Anchev had killed her father, and he had done this to her. He had done _all_ of this to her. Somehow. And she would return the favor. She would kill him for killing her. It was the last thing she would ever do.

She could keep control until then.

She turned away, looking up toward the trees above. She would be that beast's jailer for a time, until she killed its father. And then she would destroy it. It was just so simple as that.

She gathered her things – not much – and watched as the others scattered about the stone circle did the same. It was not long before Jaheira had finished talking, or arguing, or whatever with Seniyad, and was striding back towards them. Her face was hard, and her eyes tired. But Evelyn smiled at her when she looked her way.

They still had a long way to go yet. And she was hardly about to stop.

The other woman did not smile back.

* * *

The march back out from the Cloakwood was long, and quiet.

It was not so much that no one spoke, but that all the troubles they had seemed to run into in entering the forest were blessedly absent on their journey back out. Seniyad made certain that they were escorted by a small band of four druids, guiding them by the fastest routes out of the forest. Jaheira had almost seemed offended by the gesture, muttering the whole first day about the state of hospitality among the Archdruids toward their own kin of late. But she still allowed the three men and the one woman to show them away nonetheless. She spared them no few hard glances, though.

The Dwarf they had rescued from the mines had stayed with them, of course. It wasn't as if he could have done much else. He kept mostly to himself, however, seeming greatly averse to the druids that escorted them – something Evelyn hardly blamed him for after nearly having been sacrificed by a whole swarm of them just a short while after escaping enslavement. But he also seemed to avoid the others for the most part as well. But, once more, she could scarcely have pretended not to understand. They might have rescued him from the mines, but they had only seen him land in trouble ever since. He certainly seemed to grumble about that very fact with no few curses every time she chanced to get too near.

Edwin was another story, though, and one she was quickly growing tired of. The wizard had helped them, yes, but she was beginning to think that he would overcome his fear of her once more sooner or later. He had certainly suffered enough on her account already, and all seemingly just to watch the Rashemi witch for whatever reasons that he kept to himself. Eve had half a mind to tell him just what the darker woman had told_ her_, but somehow she was certain that he wouldn't believe her or that he would hardly see it as enough to satisfy him. She would have almost thought to loose them both and be done with it, though the Rashemi had at least offered her aid willingly and not given her much reason to doubt it since. And Minsc had proven himself more than worth her trust, she was sure. He had nearly given his life for her, not to mention others. That must have said _something_ at least. But she was sure they would deal with it when the time came … when they finally found civilization once more. She was beginning to think she preferred bounty hunters and assassins to Wyverns and bloodthirsty druids. But she was sure that she would have the chance to test that soon enough.

The Thayan still trudged along behind them, though, his face furrowed with an almost perpetual scowl the whole way. Dynaheir had looked almost pleased with events by comparison. And Minsc just seemed happy at that. But he always seemed to keep an eye on the wizard just in case.

At some point, Coran had taken them aside from the intended path and briefly deeper into the wood. The druids had grown irritated at him for the demand to deviate, but he had assured them that it was of the utmost importance. And when they stood, several hours later beside a hastily dug hole, Evelyn could only stare as the Elf held out a massive, tufted head in both his hands.

"Alas, poor Wyvern, with no flesh upon her bones," he seemed to begin to recite then, "lives not the Wyvern's life … but brings us coin." And then he turned toward her with a grin. "Is she not a beauty?"

She had only wrinkled her nose at the smell of the head that had been lying buried there for what must have been days, and given him a doubtful look before turning away. If that rotting husk of bone and flesh was somehow part of his definition of beauty … then she was sure that she should have taken some kind of offense. But he had only added to the one he had convinced the druids to let him keep as well from the other Wyvern, fashioning a strange makeshift litter for it out of his cloak and enlisting the giant Rashemi to aid him in carrying it. So she had let it pass.

Unfortunately, the smell was not so easily ignored …

… And neither was the feel of hard eyes stabbing into her back.

Jaheira contented herself with boring into the younger woman for a long while as they trudged through the wood, keeping some distance back with her husband close beside. Sometimes they would speak quietly to each other, and she would glance back only to see the other woman watching her. She knew well enough just what those looks were most likely for. And when she looked up after re-lacing her boot sometime the next day, she almost jumped when the druid was standing there at her side.

For a moment, the other woman just stared at her, eyes as hard as stone and piercing. For a moment, Evelyn felt her hand clamp down even more firmly upon the ashwood staff, wondering, at the look in the other woman's eyes, if it might soon meet the oaken one. And she wondered, briefly, if the other could still best her as easily as she had done not so long ago. But then the moment passed, and Jaheira turned away. Though, it was not without gesturing for the other to follow her up.

"I feel I have no need to warn you that I have seen a few too many disturbing things of late," the other woman began after a time as they continued marching along. The oaks and pines crowded close about, though there was enough space to walk quickly enough beneath them. Still, Evelyn would have rather had the smoothed trail they had enjoyed on their way into the wood, even if the druids seemed to disdain it.

She nodded her head, but said nothing. She felt the other woman must have known that those _things_ had been far more disturbing to the younger woman than they ever could have been to _her_. But she said nothing.

"It is as I have said before, Evelyn," Jaheira continued then, "I cannot know what Gorion might have done, or intended, while he raised you. He did not even tell _me_ his reasons for doing so in the first place. He only told me that it was imperative for him to do so." She smiled bitterly. "But I am beginning to wonder …

"There is something wrong, Evelyn, of that much I am certain. This is hardly a natural thing." She refrained from saying just what she meant – that there was something wrong with _her_. She didn't have to; Evelyn could hear the tone in her voice all too well.

The other woman gave a sidelong glance toward one of their druid escorts as they neared. She waited until the man moved past them.

"But Gorion was a wise man," her voice suddenly softened. "Hard, but kind. I have no doubt that he was somehow in the right in this instance." Evelyn smiled faintly at that, though she somehow doubted that Gorion had known anything about what had been done to her. He was already dead. But then the other woman frowned.

"I will not be blind to this, however, Evelyn. Know that my eyes will be upon it with the utmost scrutiny, and I will not allow others to be harmed should a great man have proved ultimately too negligent."

Evelyn hardly needed the pointed look the other woman gave her then, but she took it all the same. The hardness was back, as was the fear and doubt buried somewhere deep within. But then it was just as quickly gone, and Jaheira was moving swiftly ahead to rejoin her husband. She spoke a few silent words to him, but Evelyn did not care to hear.

The threat – she was sure that that was what it had been – was all too obvious to her. It almost filled her with a perverse hope. But she doubted that the other woman could have done anything. She would be as powerless as Ajantis. Only _she_ could stop it … whatever it was. She wouldn't let that demon wear her face ever again.

It almost cost her the next few nights' sleep, lying awake and scared to death that it might not be her that awoke in the morning if she did. She had remembered all too much of just what she had done that night Davaeorn had died in her hands. And she remembered all too well what the demon would have done had she not cast a man twice her size hastily away. She dared not think what might have happened had Xan not somehow stopped her. She dared not think just what might happen should it ever happen again.

It was warm, but she shivered all night, _every _night … even bound tightly in her cloak.

And when they finally left the Cloakwood behind them, making south toward Beregost once more … she couldn't help feeling as if she was bringing something terrible there deep down inside of her. Whatever happened – whatever they _did_ … she could not let it out. She could not let it hurt anyone else.

No, Gorion could never have known what was inside of her all along. Jaheira was wrong. If he had …

If he had, well … she would have been dead a long time ago.

And he would have lived.

* * *

"Yeslick."

The Dwarf finally stopped grumbling. Evelyn had only paid him half a mind, the whole thing interspersed too often with curses for her to make much out of it. He squinted at her now, giving her a dubious frown through his braided brown beard.

"Tell me about Sarevok Anchev."

He stared at her for a moment. And then he glanced back down into the fire. The others had all gone to sleep. At least, most of them had. Jaheira had left Khalid on watch, but the half-Elven man sat some distance away. If he had wanted to hear them, though, nothing would have stopped him.

She kept her eyes fixed on the Dwarf, her face smooth. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, though she couldn't pick up quite what it was that he said. They had camped close to the Coast Way, just a little south of the Friendly Arm Inn. She had been wondering if and when the stocky little bearded man would leave them. He had certainly grumbled enough about it on the way out from the Cloakwood. But then he was puffing at his whiskers irritably.

"Don't know much about him ta tell ye the truth, lass," he finally said.

She felt her hopes fall of a sudden at that, though she tried hard not to show it. She let her eyes fall as well, and she let out a sigh. It had been her one hope … her one hope of finding her father's murderer just then. The Dwarf was the only one to survive the mines; he was the only one who could tell them anything about them – about Sarevok, about the Iron Throne. She started shaking her head slowly.

"But I do know his father."

She looked back up quickly at the Dwarf, her eyes brightening.

"You do?" she asked softly.

"Aye," he nodded his bearded head, and then screwed up his wrinkled face. "I know that rat-faced bastard all too well. 'Twas he who threw me away inta that dank hole ta rot. _My_ friend." He said the last with such scorn that it only made her lean in closer.

"Who?"

He glanced up at her, narrowing his eyes. "Rieltar Anchev. Years ago that blasted _bastard_ gave me a good trade smithin' for the Iron Throne, and then I go and tell him about me old home! About how me clan had the richest iron mine on any coast, and how almost all were killed when we breached an underground riverbank!" He shook his head angrily. "Lost most o' me kin in that flood. Those of us that survived couldn' bear to go back down. It was a giant watery tomb, and we left it the way she stood." And then he waved a finger at her. "So I go and tell this to me _friend_ Rieltar … and he has me chained up! He tortures the location outta me, and plugged the breach so that graveyard could feed the Throne."

He finally seemed to settle, leaning back away from the fire. And then a grin spread slowly across his craggy face. "But ta think those black-hearted rats drowned in the very mine they'd stolen … Davaeorn got what he deserved if ye ask me."

She waited then, and the stocky little man padded around at his chest, almost as if for a pipe. After a moment he seemed to realize that there was nothing there for him, just the mismatched tunic he had been wearing ever since the mines. There probably hadn't been for a long time. He scowled briefly.

"I don't know much, lass," he began anew, "but I do know that what the Throne planned at the mines was nothin' small to be sure. They had men disrupting trade all over the coast. Down in Nashkel, I hear tell, and mercenaries stalkin' the roads. A foul lookin' man by the name o' Tranzig would wander in from time ta time, carrying shipments o' stolen ore in strange bags from their work. Somehow, that twig of a man managed ta do it all himself."

"Tranzig," she breathed, remembering. Jaheira and Khalid had said that they had interrogated the location of the bandit camp out of him. So it wasn't just any coincidence. The bandits had definitely had something to do with the mines in Cloakwood. And they had both had something to do with the Iron Throne.

"Aye," the Dwarf nodded his grizzled head again. "And 'twas Sarevok Anchev who was to command all o' their forces south o' the Gate. That flamin' half-Ogre by the name o' Tazok was his man runnin' orders about from one place ta the other."

Evelyn stared at the little man, her eyes wide as a dozen thoughts whirled through her head. They were even beginning to make a little sense. What had happened at Nashkel, the bandits' camp, Cloakwood … it was all connected. It all had something to do with the Iron Throne. And Sarevok Anchev – Gorion's murderer … that demon in black plated armor and glowing eyes … he had something to do with it. For what, she could hardly know. But that wasn't as important.

"Why would he want to kill _me_?" she mused quietly to herself instead, biting her lip and looking thoughtfully away. It was the only thing that didn't make any sense – not that any of the rest made much more sense to her either. But whatever the Iron Throne had been doing … it had been aiming toward _something_ at least. She had nothing to do with it – nothing at all. At least … she hadn't.

"Who?" Yeslick demanded suddenly then, squinting at her. "Sarevok?"

She nodded absently, and the Dwarf frowned. They remained there for several minutes – quiet. But she could hardly have gotten any closer to an answer than before. She only had half of a puzzle laid out before her, as enmeshed with blood and corpses as it was. She needed the other half to know anything for sure. Somehow, she knew, Sarevok Anchev would be part of it.

"Where can I find him?"

Yeslick cocked his head to one side, giving her a doubtful look. But she held firm, her face impassive. Whatever she would do … whatever the Iron Throne would do … it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she found Sarevok Anchev, and killed him. What happened to _her_ didn't matter after that. And the next place to start looking would be the Iron Throne.

"Do ye mean to kill this man?" the Dwarf asked her slowly then. He was still squinting at her dubiously, his tone guarded. But she only nodded her head. That was exactly what she meant to do. The other only puffed at his whiskers.

"Well then ye be lookin' ta kill Rieltar too," he told her quickly. "Ye won't be murderin' the man's son without him knowin'. And 'tis doubtful he'll let ye get away with it either."

She merely nodded once more. One more corpse at her feet would hardly change a thing. And she doubted anyone would miss a man who seemed to have done the things that he had done. The Dwarf's cracked lips twitched upwards briefly at that.

"Then ye have me help, lass," he spoke softly. "I be owin' Rieltar a debt o' blood for what he did ta me. Ye can have the son, but the father be mine alone."

Evelyn frowned, but it hardly mattered to her one way or another … so long as Sarevok was hers. The other shook his grizzled head.

"The Iron Throne be havin' their base in Sembia, but Rieltar has opened his own front here on the Coast." He puffed at his beard once more. "They be in the Gate, lass. We'll find 'em there."

She stared at him. And then she looked away. Her eyes went north, following the dark horizon away into the night.

"Baldur's Gate," she said softly then. And the Dwarf grunted right back.

"Baldur's Gate."

Sarevok would be waiting for her there.

She wouldn't let him wait long.


	47. Chapter 5 Many Threads

_**Many Threads**_

"This one, Eve!"

Before she knew it, Evelyn was staring down at a rather soft and pink cream-colored, pleated dress, the other woman holding the bottom length of it up before her eyes. She just sat there with a hopeful look on her face, smiling.

"I don't think so," was all Evelyn said. And the pink-haired woman's face suddenly broke.

"Why not? It's perfect!"

"Oh, I agree. And how low the neckline dips just here … simply perfect!"

Evelyn glanced over toward the Elf, giving him a dubious frown.

"Does _he_ have to be here?" she demanded irritably of her best friend. The other woman only shrugged.

"Oh, come now, sweetling," Coran shook his head reproachfully. "I just came to watch. And to see that my gold was well spent."

She gave him a hard look, and he only shrugged innocently. They had been in Beregost for nearly two days, and the man had not returned until just that morning after departing with the two Wyvern heads in a hastily borrowed wagon. And then he had burst into the Jovial Juggler – just as she had been eating her breakfast no less – nearly bowling her over in her chair as he tore her free from it and kissed her as hard as he could, a large sack crashing down on the table. It had shaken under the heavy blow, and he had only looked shocked when she had struggled fiercely. He had said something about no woman ever being so ungrateful after he tossed that much gold their way, but she hadn't really heard it. She had been too busy trying to fist him in the ribs.

A few good blows had hardly daunted the man, however. His good humor was insatiable and that boyish grin had constantly threatened to split his face in two, even as he sucked air desperately back into his lungs, laughing. Whatever he had done with the heads, apparently he had been rewarded well. And, true to the promise he had made her so long ago in the Cloakwood, he had given her a good half of the share. She had refused him outright, but it had not taken Imoen long to seize on the chance as an excuse to buy her some new clothes. At the time, she had somehow hoped that that would have meant replacing the leather armor that she had lost in the wood. Now she was frowning at a dress that was far too nice for her and an ogling Elf both.

"No." She shook her head quickly, her mouth twisting at the thought of it. She remembered all too well how many people had tried to kill her whenever she stayed too long in any town, and she was not about to trip over her own skirts trying to keep away. She wouldn't have gotten the chance to wear it and it would have just been a waste of money. Someone was sure to come along soon.

Imoen pulled the dress back, narrowing her green eyes at her best friend. She let it fall back down against the bound straw dummy that it had been adorning. And then she started browsing around the seamstress's shop once more, grumbling to herself the whole time. Evelyn tried to keep her face smooth.

She would have much rather gone and found a tanner or a leatherworker, or even peeked in the smithy that Ajantis had spent the previous day in, having his rent mail repaired. As much as she hated to replace the armor that Jondalar had given her, she missed the many bruises that it helped protect her from. And after the past few weeks, she was sure it would have been a little nicer to know that a dagger wouldn't slide in so easily either. Those leathers had been a gift, though, and she was more than a little sorry that she had had to leave them behind. It was one of the few things that she had had to remind her of home.

But she was even sorrier now, watching her best friend pull out dress after dress after dress, thinking each somehow better than the last.

"No … No … No … NO," she took an involuntary step back at the extremely low cut one that Coran suddenly held up for her. The thing looked as if the woman had forgotten to stitch half the material on! _Including_ the sides. The Elf only gave her a hurt and disappointed look.

"Now this is why you _need_ me here, sweetling," he muttered while handing it back to the frumpy old woman in her white cap – the seamstress. "With my discerning eyes you cannot go wrong. At least one could hope." He mumbled the last under his breath, fixing quickly on something else.

Just then she was about to show him a little something about discerning eyes involving a tender spot and her knee when Imoen suddenly held up another flimsy thing, pink and faded yellow with a thick, laced bodice. She shook her head almost instantly. It _was_ pretty though. Much too pretty for _her_.

Her best friend just threw the thing down with a huff, growling angrily in her throat. She barely spared an apologetic look for the old woman as she reached down to snatch the dress back up.

"How can ya expect to go to a _big_ city like Baldur's Gate lookin' like that!" she stabbed a disdainful finger toward Evelyn's currently mismatched tunic and leggings. The other woman's eyes were wide, her face flushed. Coran nudged in at her side.

"I agree, sweetling. How can you?"

Imoen put her hands on her hips, all but snarling. "You're gonna look nice, and yer gonna like it! Or else … or else you're not going!"

Evelyn pursed her lips at the other woman, giving her a chiding look. As if she was going to stop her. But then Coran was shaking his head, casting away.

"She's right you know, sweetling. The Gate is far different than even here. Those clothes might have escaped notice tumbling about in the brush, but you will have to match up to the local fashion if you plan on blending into the crowds. This pretty little thing for example …," he started pulling another low-cut dress off a small pile.

"Wait."

She was suddenly pushing past him, moving the Elf more roughly out of the way than she possibly had need to. And then she was standing before a short lavender coat on another straw dummy, looking somewhat out of place there amidst all the skirts and dresses. Evelyn rounded on the other two with a forced smile, sure to see the dissatisfaction in their faces. Coran, at least, did not disappoint her.

"I'm sorry, miss," the old seamstress butted in quickly, though. "A young noble gent had me husband work that up for him – he's a tailor you know – and I put the finishin' touches on meself. But it's only for show, and a boy's coat besides. I'm afraid it's already sold."

"We'll take it!" Imoen rounded on the old woman in her white cap. And then she slapped down a handful of gold coins on a table. Whatever words of protest the other had been going to say, died instantly on her lips.

"I'm sure old Tom could make another right quick," she said instead. Evelyn felt her face fall.

"Where did you get _that_?" she demanded of the other woman, gesturing vaguely back toward the old seamstress and the gold coins as they left the shop. Imoen bent in close, whispering to her ear.

"I nicked 'em from Coran when he wasn't looking!" She grinned broadly at that, and then rolled her eyes at her best friend's frown. "He had more than enough. Come on!"

She was pushing forward and back out into Beregost, and then the Elf was at her side.

"I let her take them," was all he said after a moment, smiling ruefully. "My poor little sugarplum tries so hard."

Evelyn only supposed that it had been a slim chance at best. Imoen wore a coat, as gaudy as it was. At least _she_ had escaped the same fate. She patted a hand inside the material, feeling the thicker swaths of leather stitched along the flaps, sides, and shoulders. If nothing else, it would at least give her _some_ protection. And it stopped Imoen's complaining.

It had not been long after that that Ajantis had finally returned to the inn from the smithy, his armor properly fitted to him once more and leaving nothing exposed. The bent and useless shield he had carried throughout Cloakwood also still hung at his side, though it had been hammered back into shape. She had frowned at that when he had shown her – and he lamented upon how much more it seemed to cost rather than buying a new one. But he had only grinned wistfully, and pushed it under her eyes.

"It is a family shield, my Lady Evelyn," he had explained, fingering the emblem upon its surface gently. "This is the Ilvastarr coat of arms." He gestured toward the green dragon with its orange eyes standing out proudly against a field of gold. But then he frowned. "My great-grandfather fashioned it under the mercy of some artistic inspiration. My family is more known for its wealth in trading, specifically in beast-taming and breeding, than for its fighting prowess."

He sighed, but said nothing more. And before she could have even thought to ask, he was suddenly pulling a belt from his shoulder and handing it to her.

"A gift, my Lady," he told her as she studied the scabbard hanging from one end curiously in her hands. She pulled the blade out slowly, revealing a slender sword no longer than her forearm, gracefully curved. It slid back in with barely a sound. "Beautiful and elegant, yet deadly," he continued as he watched, his face unreadable. "The man told me that it was of Kara-Turian make. It reminded me of you."

She cradled the thing in her hands, unsure of just what to say. It must have been incredibly valuable, of that she was sure. But the knight would not take it back from her, no matter how much she protested.

"Please, my Lady," he told her firmly. "Evelyn. I may be a squire knight, but my family is not poor. And given your interest … I would feel better knowing that you had something more to protect you should I ever fail again. I hope that, for whatever it is worth, it might begin to repay that impossible debt I owe you for ever failing at all."

And he had left it at that, though he would not leave until she had put it on. Beneath the new leather-padded lavender coat that she now sported due to Imoen, it seemed somewhat fitting. But they still felt awkward and out of place to her, and she had hardly advanced enough in her brief training to trust a blade much. The ashwood staff and Fuller's dagger would serve her far better, she was sure. Still, her thanks were no less genuine, and it seemed to make him happy. It was the least that she could do.

"Our resident Thayan seems to have vanished."

She was sitting across from Jaheira in the common room of the Jovial Juggler a little while afterward, their small table tucked back against one corner. No one was near enough to hear them, and the other woman took a sip from the cup of mead in front of her. Evelyn gave her a dubious eye. Though, she supposed, it seemed all too reasonable to think that the druid would have somehow known just what the wizard was without ever telling her. She let it pass.

Edwin had left them sometime after returning to Beregost. He had given them no word, no sign … no nothing. She had simply turned around once only to find him gone. It was hardly surprising, though. She had been waiting to see just when he would finally become fed up enough to leave. It did not bode entirely well, however.

"I would not be surprised to find the Rashemi dead in their sleep sometime soon," the other woman added, her voice even. It seemed for all the world as if she didn't care. Evelyn supposed that she probably didn't. Not that much anyways. "But the Wychlaran has proven herself capable enough so far, as has the woodsman. I would not doubt finding a red-robed corpse just as likely."

Evelyn only frowned, glancing away. She didn't care much for finding corpses either way, though she supposed she might trust the Thayan's over the two Rashemi's. Minsc's, at least, she would have liked to keep very much alive. No matter how many secrets Dynaheir kept, the Rashemi giant had proven kind and brave enough. She had laid enough misfortunate at his feet already.

Jaheira was studying her, and for several long moments there was an uneasy silence between them. It dragged on for all too long, and Evelyn began to wonder if those dark eyes would finally make good on their seeming threats. But then the older woman suddenly began speaking anew, and Eve was sure that it was the real reason why she had come to speak to her in the first place.

"Are you certain of this, Evelyn?" she asked, those dark eyes boring into her intently. The raven-haired woman didn't have to ask just what 'this' she was referring to. She had already told the other just what she meant to do.

She nodded. It was the only thing that she _could_ do.

The other woman leaned back slowly, still studying her.

"Baldur's Gate is not so simple a place as your Candlekeep or even Beregost," she warned the other softly. Evelyn only gave her a hard look. She knew that. But the other continued as if she hadn't. "There are many enemies to be made in such a place, many shadows from which a dagger or an arrow might strike, and many men – and women – with little enough need for any reason other than enough coin to do it."

The druid sipped at her cup once more, though her eyes remained level on the younger woman.

"If you dare to tread in such a place lightly, make certain that you _do_ tread lightly." She shook her head just slightly. "Or else you might find that men do not need bounties to justify murder. Or worse …"

But when Evelyn tried to ask her just what dangers she might have to worry about, the other had only shaken her head once more. Cities such as Baldur's Gate were dangerous places no matter _who_ you were, the druid explained to her in a flat voice. All it took was one good reason given to the wrong person for someone to wind up face down in an alley with a dagger in their back.

"Best you do not give anyone that good reason. If we go to Baldur's Gate to chase this man that killed Gorion, then we best go to do just that. Nothing else."

But Evelyn hardly had any intention of doing anything else. She would find Sarevok. And then she would kill him. Nothing else really mattered.

And when the other woman just nodded her head slowly at that, her face still smooth as stone, Evelyn had finally left. They would be leaving Beregost soon enough.

* * *

"Are you coming with us?"

She stepped up beside the Elf where he stood looking down upon the Beregost streets below, that window at the end of the hall above the Jovial Juggler all too familiar. For a moment, memory tugged at her insistently. But it was not a grim face that turned down on her then. Instead, Coran smiled.

"I have not left yet, sweetling," he told her. "It warms my heart to think that you noticed."

It had grown dark, and they had finished all that they would do there in the town. Khalid had seen to purchasing more food and water for the brief journey north, though the Friendly Arm Inn would undoubtedly be a stop along their way. She had not been back there since that first bounty hunter had tried to kill her in her own room.

She only looked up at the Elf patiently, however. Eventually he cocked his head to one side, and then turned back toward the sight below.

"I cannot think of any better place to spend my newfound fortune, sweetling," he said after a moment. "So near anyways. And I cannot think of anyone better to spend it with – providing, of course, that you have decided not to refuse my generous gift."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but it was hardly as if she could have refused it anyways. Imoen had made sure that she had kept it, and the heavy sack of gold was now safe in a bolted drawer in the room that they shared with the other women. She had been hesitant at first, and still was, to keep it. There was no telling what someone might do if they found out she had that much wealth just hanging about her. She would be sure to bury it somewhere deep inside her pack. But she could already almost _feel_ the bruises she would have from carrying that bulk all day. Generous gift indeed …

"I have already risked my life for you, sweetling," he continued, shaking his head. "I think that you might consider us even." And then he was grinning back down at her. "But if a little adventure slips my way, who am I to argue?"

She smiled back at him, genuinely for once. He knew well what she meant to do – well enough anyways. She had told the others just what Yeslick had told her. Sarevok Anchev had something to do with the Iron Throne, and that would be the first place she would look to find him. She briefly wondered if the other still doubted that she meant to kill him. He certainly seemed to think little enough of the danger. But, she supposed, he would know how to survive in a city like Baldur's Gate far better than she.

His hand had wandered down to her side, tugging at the lavender coat. Before she could have thought to stop him, he was twisting the material between his fingers, looking at her thoughtfully.

"Not a bad taste you have, sweetling, I shall say. Not bad at all." And then he flashed her another grin. "But you would still benefit much by a little less concealing bulk beneath I should say," he gestured vaguely toward her tunic underneath. "Or perhaps nothing at all." He winked.

She left him then, and moved back down the hallway. But it did not take her long to find the room she wanted. It was easy enough to tell their own by the giant Rashemi standing outside the door.

Minsc was playing with something in his hands as she came near, grinning and speaking quietly in that booming voice. But when he suddenly saw her, he forced whatever it was back into a pouch in the leathers on his jerkin. He straightened abruptly, his face smoothing until it was hard once more and he looked every ounce the stoic guard. It didn't take much to realize that the Rashemi witch must have been inside.

"Is she alone?" Evelyn asked the giant man towering over her of a sudden, stopping before the door. The man blinked down at her, but then assumed his stiff posture once again.

"Dynaheir is never alone. Minsc and Boo watch over her always." And then that booming voice abruptly softened as he grinned broadly down at her. "But Dynaheir likes Evelyn. So Minsc will let her pass."

She frowned at him for a moment, musing over whether he might have actually tried to stop her had Dynaheir _disliked_ Evelyn. Even though Jaheira had purchased that same room from the innkeeper to house them all while they stayed. So long as the Rashemi aided them, the half-Elven woman seemed to have no problem with paying for her bed. But then she was wondering just why Minsc would think that the witch liked her. She hardly considered those predatory smiles the other woman gave her anything akin to friendly.

But she didn't ask. Instead she just pushed the door open and walked into the room. Neither Jaheira nor Imoen were there, but it was hardly surprising. She doubted any of them cared for the secretive woman any more than she did.

Dynaheir looked up at her from a book she had been reading, sitting atop her bed. And then she closed it with that same smile. Those calculating eyes fixed on Evelyn all too readily.

She hesitated for a moment, coming to a stop there just inside the door. Somehow she had hoped that coming to the other woman rather than being surprised again might in some way make her more comfortable to speak with. But those cold eyes hardly seemed any friendlier just then. They studied her like she was some sort of insect, ready to dissect. It made her shiver just a little.

So instead she moved away from the other woman, forgetting to speak for the moment. She stopped before her own bed instead, and opened the chest at its foot. Unfortunately, that was as far as her hasty plan had gone, and she stood there hunched over for a moment wondering just what to do. But she recovered quickly enough, and started to remove her new lavender coat. She stuffed it down inside.

"Minsc is nothing if not the most loyal companion."

Evelyn jumped at the sound of the other's voice, hitting her head on the latch of the trunk. She cried out sharply, and then snatched at the back of her skull with both hands. She sucked in through her teeth, glancing at the other woman. Some fine start she was making …

But the other was still smiling calmly.

"Many a time I was grateful for him traveling with me."

She stared at the other for a moment, and then unlatched the belt with the Kara-Turian blade. It started to follow her coat down into the chest, but then she suddenly thought better of it and snatched it back. She closed the lid.

"You were saying?"

Dynaheir was still studying her, almost seeming amused. But with enough steel in her hand and a short enough distance between them, Evelyn was hardly about to let herself be daunted. She held her ground.

"I was speaking of how adept mine companion is as a guardian."

She nodded at that, and waited. She wondered if the other woman had heard him speaking to her outside. But then the witch was leaning back slowly, almost leisurely.

"So, thou doth not doubt his place thus far at thy side? He hath proved himself as worthy as I, I should think."

Evelyn frowned, but nodded again after a moment. She wasn't quite sure what the other was getting at. And she was all too aware that the initiative had already been seized from her. She waited, cradling the curved blade in her hands.

The other woman abruptly leaned back forward. "Then why doth thou wonder so greatly at why we still continue to help?"

Dynaheir rested her chin on her hands almost thoughtfully, but there was an ominous edge to her voice. Evelyn hardly thought her words meant to be a threat – in fact, if she didn't know any better, she would have been sure that the other woman was playing with her out of enjoyment. But she wasn't about to tell her all of her doubts just then either.

"You have already helped us more than enough," was all she said, steadying her voice so that she sounded far surer of herself than she actually did. "I don't know why you would want to stay and keep risking yourselves." At least Edwin had been afraid of _her_, if not entirely honest.

"I have already told thee my reasons for being here," the other responded easily with a small smile. "Thy side is as good a place as any to continue our investigation. Doth thou wish us gone?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at her, but Evelyn could see easily the certainty in her dark eyes. She doubted very much that the raven-haired woman would turn aside such freely offered, and valuable, aid, especially given just how dangerous her life seemed to have increasingly become of late. She somehow doubted that Baldur's Gate could possibly be any different, though she was tempted to tell the woman 'yes' anyways. She wondered if the other would have actually left. She wondered if _Edwin_ had actually left. But she didn't say anything. She just stared right back.

"The Thayan hath gone," the other said then, almost as if she had read Evelyn's mind. For a moment, she couldn't help wondering if she might have done just that. But the thought passed. "But I doubt he hath gone far. He hath a mission to complete as well."

"What mission?" she demanded, finding her voice. For once, the Rashemi seemed not to hesitate to answer.

"To determine just what _our_ mission is, I have no doubt," Dynaheir told her. And it suddenly left Evelyn thinking just what about that mission the other might _not_ have told her. "His masters undoubtedly wish to know just why it is that my sisters have seen fit to send me here."

"And why did they see fit to send you here?" she asked carefully. But the other only smiled once more.

"I have already told thee the answer to that."

She sighed. It had been worth a try at least …

"Doth evil haunt thy dreams, Evelyn?"

She glanced up quickly, her mouth falling open in surprise. The question had been so sudden, so out of place … she started to answer before she could even think to hold her tongue.

"Wh-what? How did you …"

But she shook her head, swallowing the rest of her words back down. They made her sick just then, though, as she saw the look that spread across the other's face. How could she have _possibly _known anything about her dreams? _Oh,_ she remembered suddenly then, _the thrashing_. Dynaheir cocked her head to one side.

"Wouldst thou tell me? Perhaps I could help."

Evelyn stared at those dark eyes for a moment, seeing the certainty already mirrored there within. She briefly wondered if the woman might try to force the answers out of her if she still tried to deny it. And then she thought briefly of just what the other might be able to do with those magicks of hers …

No … no. Someone would notice it if she did. And she would not possibly prove so foolish as that. Still, she was beginning to wonder just how quickly she could have that Kara-Turian blade to the other woman's throat before it started moving. It made her feel just a little bit better.

But the other let the smile fade from her face instead.

"I wouldst not press thee if thou didst not wish it," she assured her earnestly. "I will not pry, when thou doth know little of mine secrets as well."

Evelyn frowned at her, not so sure that she would not still go to some lengths to unearth whatever she thought the raven-haired woman was hiding inside her head. And she did not doubt that the witch would only tell her just which secrets she wished to reveal in return. But the Rashemi smiled up at her yet again, this time trying to seem almost pleasant.

"My sisters oft guide and teach where I come from," she told Evelyn, her voice almost gentle. "I wouldst offer thee any counsel I might have to give. And I would warn thee, as well, not to fear to share thy troubles should they ever prove too great."

She left it at that, and it was several long moments of awkward silence that they spent together then. Well, awkward for _her_, at least. The dark-skinned woman only kept that same reticent smile plastered to her face, those calm, calculating eyes drinking her slowly in. Finally, Evelyn moved to leave.

She turned and shoved the Kara-Turian blade inside the chest, not daring to let the other woman think that she might have kept it because she was afraid of her. And then she made her way back towards the door. She could only hope that the other would be asleep when she finally came back. She had already let her tongue fly loose enough in front of her for one day.

But the woman's voice caught her as her hand tugged at the handle, staying her swiftly for a moment. She glanced back over her shoulder briefly.

"I would warn thee," the witch called after her then, "to beware the Red Wizard. Should he come back, as I am certain he will, thou shouldst treat him as an enemy. If he hath finally left thy company, then he will undoubtedly come back only for blood. And he will spare thine no more than mine own. Consider it … thy price for our aid."

She was not smiling then.

But Evelyn only turned away … and left.

* * *

She nearly crashed into Minsc's broad chest, forgetting that he was there. Something bounded out of his hands and to the floor. Before she could even mutter an apology, the giant of a man was scrabbling away along the ground after what looked like some kind of rodent. She frowned, vaguely remembering having seen it once before. But then she was turning away.

Whatever the Rashemi witch said, whatever secrets she kept … Evelyn hardly doubted her about one thing. She was sure that the other woman was speaking the truth about Edwin being a threat should he ever return. She could only hope that, whatever happened, the two would keep it between themselves and not involve anyone else. Other than that, she really didn't care what their respective problems with each other were.

But there was one last person she needed to speak to tonight – the only one left that she still couldn't be sure of. And when she finally found him, sitting in the men's room, she was more than a little surprised to see who he was with.

"Imoen?"

The other woman bounced back up to her feet in an instant from where she had sat cross-legged upon one bed, facing Xan. She gave her best friend a tentative grin.

"Heya, Eve …"

Evelyn looked from one to the other, trying to determine just what it was that they had been doing, the Elf sitting on a bed across from her as well. Xan merely glanced up at her slowly, hardly as perturbed as the other. His face was unreadable.

There was a long moment of silence then, as Imoen shifted awkwardly there on her feet. And then she seemed to finally decide to leave, rounding on the Elf briefly before making for the door.

"I'll see ya later!" she told the man hastily before squeezing past her best friend. Evelyn frowned after her, still wondering … she vaguely remembered the two having their heads together for much of the march back through the Cloakwood. She had hardly cared to pay much attention at the time. But, she supposed, it didn't really matter anyways. It was hardly any of her business.

"Xan."

The Elf watched her as she moved over and replaced her best friend where she had been sitting on the opposite bed, his face still smooth. But he spoke before she could.

"I suppose you are wondering if I will be accompanying you to that city on this foolish vengeance quest of yours."

But she said nothing, only waited. He nodded his head gravely after a moment.

"Nothing I have said thus far has dissuaded you in the least from this self-destructive course. You seem all too eager to chase your own doom to the depths of the very Hells themselves." He sighed, seeming suddenly very sad. "A pity that it is drawn out so long as it is."

"You don't have to come, Xan," she told him gently, willing some of that hopelessness to leave his brown eyes. But he fixed them quickly back on her instead.

"Of that … you are wrong." He swallowed briefly. "My duty bids me follow this course out to its end. I could do no else." He nodded of a sudden. It almost seemed to give him some sort of strength.

"But what duty?" she shook her head, her voice still soft. "You obviously don't want to go …"

His lips twitched upward briefly at that. But his tone only grew bitter.

"I had hoped you might understand by now … You have made your burden so very much the same …"

He trailed off, looking away. And she wondered which burden he meant. But it hardly mattered. He still had not answered her.

"Do you _fear_ anything, Evelyn?" he asked suddenly, though, before she could speak. She frowned at him, taken aback. But he looked at her with such overwhelming regret just then … that she could hardly have thought of anything else. She felt a little of it bleed into her … but then her face was hard.

"No," she told him, her voice flat. She didn't tell him about how it had felt to nearly drown in the waters that day, or how frightened she had been just after that demon had left her wallowing in the dirt, confused and alone. And she didn't tell him about how much it terrified her – _absolutely_ terrified her – to think that it might do so again … That instead of waking up alone … she would wake up covered in blood … the blood of the innocent, the blood of those who had helped her … the blood of her friends.

But it didn't matter. All that mattered was what she would find in Baldur's Gate. Then she might finally have some peace.

"Nothing," she repeated softly.

"Nothing," the other echoed dully. "How very strange."

Those brown eyes studied her for several long moments, piercing and intent. She was sure that he would know that she was lying. But he didn't say anything. Instead he only sighed once more.

"You are young," he told her simply, raising his eyes to meet hers. "So very young. The fear will come. As will," and then his voice fell low, "other feelings …" And he looked away.

"Xan, you–"

"I have a task to complete, Evelyn," he returned to her quickly. "It was given to me in Evereska. I will know just what dangers this scheme that began with the mines in Nashkel and the bandits along the roads truly entails for the Sword Coast. Only then will I return home."

He stood suddenly, and those brown eyes fell down on her softly.

"I will protect you, Evelyn," he said then, "as best I am able. Do not expect much." He turned away.

When he was mere paces from the door, he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder toward her briefly.

"Your friend is impressionable," he seemed to warn her. "Both her curiosity and her determination are dangerous. I could wish that you would turn her aside and send her back to her home to spare her a similar fate in the end … but somehow I doubt that she would allow herself to be left behind so easily. Dangerous, as I said. And so regretful."

He started to move toward the door once more. But then he paused, his hand on the latch. For a moment then, he finally seemed to realize that it was _his_ room, and _she_ the intruder. He sighed, but kept his back to her.

Evelyn stood herself, slowly. And then she strode up and past him, coming beside the door. She turned back on him, briefly.

"Thank you, Xan," she told him softly, sincerely, "for whatever it's worth. Thank you." She opened the door.

But he caught her suddenly, tugging at her hand and bringing her back. She rounded on him in surprise, but he seemed to struggle with whatever he meant to say in that moment. She waited patiently for him to speak. And then his eyes abruptly fixed up on hers from the ground. He sighed.

"These days," he began slowly, softly, "I am enjoying many things … my freedom, your company … our relative luck. But soon, it will end. It must – and shall. Evelyn," that gaze became suddenly so much more intense, "we both will die soon enough anyways. We must. We shall." He shook his head, looking almost feverish. "Will you–?"

But then he suddenly caught himself … and his face quickly fell.

"No," he said instead, biting the word almost vengefully. "Never mind. I cannot seem to keep control of my own thoughts. It does not matter."

And then he was pulling the latch from her hand, opening the door the rest of the way for her.

"Go. I will leave with you when you do." He sighed deeply once more. "Hopefully my fate will come for me soon after that, and put a merciful end to all these sudden doubts."

And then Evelyn found herself face to face with a closed door. She frowned.

Whatever the Elf had meant … she didn't dare try to make sense out of all of his rambling. She could only wonder at what he had meant about Imoen. Though, she supposed, it must have had something to do with what she had seemingly interrupted. But it didn't matter. He was right.

His duty was so closely tied with her own, if he meant what he had said. And she was sure that he did. So he would help her. She felt strangely thankful for that, but sorry for it as well. He did not want to – that was obvious enough to her. And she would more than likely be the death of him besides. But she would do what she had to. Finishing it was all that mattered. At least he understood that. At least one of them truly understood.

She turned … and left.


	48. Chapter 5 The Gate

_**The Gate**_

"Six coppers … Six coppers!"

The man bellowed loudly, his voice echoing down along the bridge. A cacophony of gossiping, muttering, and irritated grunts threatened to drown him out.

"Siiix coppers!"

He was standing beneath a large stone gate in plated mail atop the bridge, massive slabs of brick woven together to brave the chugging waters of the River Chionthar below. The whole thing was easily hundreds of feet long, stretching away from bank to bank. Somehow the man was making himself heard from one side to the other, even above the crowds.

"Six coppers! The price is six coppers per adult head! Two per child, and four per cattle head! Have your fare ready and the Gate shall open her doors to you all the faster! Enjoy your stay, sir."

He nodded briefly toward a merchant who had just finished laying out his money atop one of the half-dozen or so tables that had been spread out along the bridge. Men in plated mail and plumed helms were stationed at each, clerks by their sides and counting fares. The merchant continued on and through the gate, towing a horse and wagon along behind him.

"Siiix coppers!"

"I've got his six coppers," Imoen was suddenly growling, shoving a hand inside her coat. And then she pulled it out, reeled back, and hurled a fistful of bright coins into the air. They scattered over the long line they had been waiting in, and then rained down on one of the tables. A man in plate started as copper coins thumped down around him, one piece clinking on his head. And then he abruptly bounded to his feet.

"ORDER! ORDER!" he roared angrily. "I'll have the swine who dares besmirch the good name of this city in stockade by noon, so help me! Back in line and wait – your – TURN!"

Imoen had already started digging inside her coat once more, but Jaheira was suddenly snatching at her hand.

"What foolishness is this? Stop it, child!"

But the pink-haired woman only scowled back at her.

"But he still needs six coppers for each of us."

The druid squeezed all the harder, seemingly trying to crush the other woman's hand. "Stop it!" she hissed. Eventually, Imoen shrugged, frowning, and Jaheira released her.

"Siiix coppers!"

The pink-haired woman startled grumbling anew, and too loudly for the other not to hear. A man in thick woolens ahead gave them a frown. Evelyn tried to ignore them both.

"I have half a mind to make you go and pick all of that up, girl."

Imoen rounded back on the older woman, narrowing her eyes. She was only uncomfortable in that heat, and irritated at the wait, Evelyn knew. But then her best friend thrust a thumb toward the raven-haired woman beside her.

"Eve's got plenty more."

Jaheira gave her a dubious frown before turning it on Evelyn. She only shrugged uncomfortably, turning back toward the many people ahead. The other hardly knew of Coran's gift. And no matter what that man had said, the lines did not seem to be moving_ any_ faster.

They had finally arrived at Baldur's Gate earlier that morning – or, at least, the bridge leading _into_ Baldur's Gate. They had hurried on through what Jaheira had warned her was Ankheg country – a few words about giant bugs popping out of the ground was far more than she had needed to hear. A scattered mess of sprawling farmlands had followed swiftly, and then they had reached the massive, gated bridge that led across the river toward the city, only to be mired within the throngs of other people with the very same thing in mind. They were collecting tolls it seemed, and Evelyn had been forced to wait in the rough lines that were forming behind each of the tables along with the others. It had already been almost an hour, and they had made so very little progress.

"They observe and inspect each and every traveler with the utmost scrutiny," Jaheira mused from behind, gazing intently ahead. "They seem to be looking for any excuse to charge a heftier fare. Hmph. Apparently this is the Dukes' answer to making up for revenue lost from trade due to bandits."

Evelyn hardly knew anything about that, but, with a sack full of gold coins in the bottom of her pack, she didn't really care all that much either. She flexed one of her arms beneath the strap, wishing only that the man was demanding sacks full of gold per head instead.

"I should not worry too much, my little sylph. If you find yourself short of coin, I'll be happy to pay for your head."

Jaheira gave the Elf a sidelong glance, but he only grinned at her in return. After a moment, Khalid was pushing up at her side, and forcing the other man gently away. Coran just threw up his hands placatingly, and shrugged.

Evelyn could see Ajantis eying her once more from their rear, the Elven mage lurking somewhere beside, and the two Rashemi just beyond and quiet as they had been. But she turned away before the knight could say anything. No few times had he offered to help her with what seemed to be an uncomfortable weight. Something about having him carry her things for her just seemed … well …

… Well, it was difficult enough to get him to stop addressing her as some noble lady anyways – as if her raggedy and soiled clothes could have given anyone any other ideas. But she wasn't about to start letting him treat her like one too. Though, she supposed, with that fine lavender coat she was wearing now, she certainly looked a touch nicer there amongst the crowds. She could have almost fought a little pride at that, but it wouldn't have been hard. Standing out was not quite something she needed just then.

But the stocky yet not-so-stocky little man before her surely made her stand out a little more at least. He had begun to fill out his lean frame a little better with some real food in his stomach, but he had yet to trade in that loose, old tunic for something more appropriate. Though, at least he had managed to trim it a little. She had offered to pay for some new clothes for him with the gold that Coran had given her while they were in Beregost, feeling somewhat guilty and responsible for the trouble they had caused him. But he had refused her, saying only that he hardly needed to dress well to bludgeon a man's skull in. It seemed to have done him well, though. That tunic was flimsy enough that it couldn't possibly have proved so uncomfortable as what_ she_ was wearing.

It was hot, and quickly growing hotter as the sun reached its zenith. Especially with how close to jostling those throngs of people were around them. Eventually she had been forced to just take off her cloak and stuff it back inside her pack. She felt a little awkward then, with the Kara-Turian blade hanging from one hip, Fuller's dagger from the other, and a young nobleman's coat unbuttoned across her chest besides. And she received a few odd looks from some of the people around her. She hoped it wasn't too obvious what she intended to do inside the city. But her best friend caught eye of her then, and she removed her own cloak soon after. Jaheira gave them both a disapproving look.

"You should leave those be," she chided quietly from behind sometime later, gesturing toward where their cloaks had disappeared to. Imoen spared her a quick frown.

"It's too hot, Jaheira!"

But the other only scowled in return.

"You should worry less about the heat and more about just how noticeable those … those _colors_ are to everyone from here to the other side of the Gate. I would not be surprised if they tried to charge us extra for offending their eyes."

"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" Imoen demanded defensively. "Me and Eve look great!" She threw an arm around her best friend suddenly, nearly pulling the raven-haired woman off her feet in surprise.

"I agree," Coran nudged in once more before the druid could open her mouth. She frowned at him instead. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Fist mistakes them for part of something for the fairgrounds. I'm sure if they even put on a nice little act … perhaps we'll get in for free."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes back at the man, even as Jaheira pursed her lips irritably. The heat hardly seemed to be affecting her, though, and Eve wondered at that. Coran and Khalid weren't too bothered by it either, she had noticed. Still, it was not too long before the half-Elven woman was tugging her own cloak off and stuffing it away too with a scrutinizing eye toward the crowd around. She had that oaken staff clutched tightly in one hand like a walking stick. Khalid shook his head slowly beside her, but said nothing.

"Siiix coppers!"

The line suddenly moved ahead a step, and Imoen leapt eagerly forward before catching sight of the shouting guard once more. Her momentary relief and excitement did not last long. And then she was right back to scowling. Evelyn could see a hand reach back inside her coat. Whether it was clutching more coins or a knife, she couldn't be sure. The other woman just left it there, glaring after the man.

Evelyn only glanced around once more to the crowd, studying the many people that seemed to want to get into that city as much as they did. Most of them were traders it seemed, a few farmers – one with a larger train of livestock trailing behind that seemed to draw no few muttered complaints from those forced beside it – and some families gathered on foot or even in wagons. She caught a flash of bright red among the all too often drab colors, musing briefly at the thought that she and Imoen were not the _only _two sporting bold attire at least – at least not in their line. There were even a couple carriages too. But those were shepherded toward one of the lines and into the city far faster than any others. Even some of the merchants seemed to enjoy a certain procession if they appeared wealthy enough. Anyone on horseback hardly had to wait at all.

She had long ago realized that the lines were divided between some sort of measure of standing, and anyone flashing enough coin made it through those gates far faster than any without. When they had first arrived at the bridge, confused for a moment as to just what those lines were for, she and Imoen had quickly started ahead toward the quicker moving line. It had certainly _seemed_ like the most logical choice at the time. But Jaheira had reined them quickly back in, apparently catching on to just what was going on far faster than them. It was only then that Evelyn had started to notice the dark looks some of the people in those slower lines had cast at them, and she had tried to avoid their eyes as they hastily settled in at the back. No few of the wealthy merchants and what she thought must have been nobles of some sort or another received those same looks as they sped right on through the tolls and into the city. But every last one of them seemed to just ignore it.

The weight on her back just kept getting worse and worse, and mostly because there was little else to occupy her while they inched closer and closer to the front. There had been little talking – the crowds of people stuffed in all about had hardly made it possible – and she began to wonder if pulling free a few gold coins to toss at the plated soldiers might have gotten things moving just a little bit faster. Imoen might have had the right idea.

But she quickly dismissed the thought, sighing irritably – or rather, growling. She certainly didn't need to announce her presence any more by flashing that kind of wealth around. And she certainly didn't need to give anyone any more reason to kill her by looking a rich and easy target. Not that she was overly enthusiastic about being scrutinized by the duty officers up ahead anyways. She would have much rather avoided all notice until she had done just what she needed to do inside that city.

But she could hardly complain – as much as she wanted to. Waiting forever in a hot, stuffy line was a far cry from nearly being eaten alive by Wyverns, or sacrificed by druids … or even sneaking into old Dwarven mines. And no one had tried to kill her just yet. She should have been more than thankful for that. But, she had to remind herself, it would have been the easiest thing in the world for someone to just slip a dagger in there between her ribs where no one would notice …

All the more reason for those lines to hurry up.

She supposed that she should have been happy then, sometime later, when she seemed to get her wish.

"Damned humans," Yeslick suddenly grunted ahead of her, muttering beneath his breath, "too tall fer yer own good … makin' Dwarves wait in bloody lines … can't see a blasted thing …" He was shaking his head and glaring about.

Evelyn frowned at that, and she could see Jaheira purse her lips out of the corner of her eye, giving her husband a sidelong look. Khalid only shrugged. And Evelyn just sighed once more, keeping her eyes ahead. There wasn't much to _see_ anyways …

Someone gasped behind her.

A lot of people gasped behind her.

And then there was a sudden quiet.

Jaheira whipped her head back about. And then her mouth was hanging open too.

"By Silvanus …"

And then she was simply … gone.

Evelyn had hardly been paying attention, but she could feel the wind suddenly thrashing at her back. And she stumbled forward a halting step when she felt something push into her from behind. She growled angrily in her throat, turning back around. But someone suddenly screamed. And then she realized that there was no one standing behind her anymore.

She heard it before she saw it, but that hardly gave her enough time to move.

"What–"

Imoen spun around in confusion, but then that screaming was suddenly hurtling toward them. Someone struck them both lengthwise across the middle, and in another moment Evelyn was on her back amidst a pile of thrashing bodies as everyone around her hit the stone all at once.

Everyone was screaming then, even as she could hear something roaring aloud from above her. It didn't take Evelyn long to realize that thing that had struck her was a man, a traveler in simple woolens and leathers that scrambled to his feet alongside everyone else. He was as surprised as she.

"Eve!"

Imoen was suddenly snatching at her best friend's arm, hauling her out of the mess of people that had tumbled down around her. She leapt up beside the other woman, but it was only to a swirling mass of bodies as everyone seemed to be charging in every direction screaming at once. Yeslick tore angrily out of the pile he had been buried in with a loud grunt. Then a pocket was opening up around them … and there, at its center, was a beast standing nearly twice as tall as any man. It bellowed loudly, jaws gaping wide.

Evelyn didn't even pretend not to know what the thing was. Memory flashed instantly before her eyes – those long, jagged teeth, yellowed skin, greasy hair and bulky body – and for a moment she was back before that night when Gorion had been killed. For a moment she felt that terror seize her all over again.

"Ogre!" she breathed, staring up at the towering beast. Imoen's eyes went wide beside her.

"What …?"

But there was hardly any time to think about it just then.

Everyone was running away as fast as they could as the crowd simply burst in every direction. Some of them rushed the gates where the guards had been taking tolls, knocking over tables and plated soldiers. Coins scattered across the stone.

Someone wasn't fast enough, though, and Evelyn ducked as another man – a merchant this time – was suddenly snatched up and swung wildly through what remained of the crowd like a club, knocking people aside and flying across the bridge. Imoen tumbled away beside her. She heard the Dwarf grunt loudly behind. And then she was all alone.

The Ogre saw her suddenly, and she froze. It reached one massive hand down to take her, and she screamed. But then she was leaping away and ahead of it, rolling away across the stone.

The bridge seemed almost empty then, and the beast stopped. It cast about slowly, its massive jaws hanging open as it swept two sunken eyes across what remained of the teeming crowds of before, scattered along stone. And then a lone woman was climbing back to her feet, hand to her head. Her darker skin stood out like a beacon. The Ogre grunted, and started toward her.

The bridge shook, and two dark eyes quickly focused, lifting up toward the massive beast coming towards them. Dynaheir froze where she stood, stumbling a step back as those eyes went wide. The Ogre was less than a dozen paces away and picking up speed. It bellowed down at her.

But Minsc was charging past the witch of a sudden then with a wordless cry, heading straight for the beast as his massive blade came sweeping suddenly free. He darted in beneath it, seeming all of a sudden so very small as his shaved head barely reached the thing's chest. That broad length of steel whirled vengefully in, striking at ragged furs and exposed flesh. And then the Ogre was twisting ponderously back, a small swath of yellowed skin slicing open along its side. It grunted, paused for a brief moment, and then swept the giant of a man easily aside with one arm. He hurtled away across the bridge with a roar.

Dynaheir was shouting loudly at the beast now, her arms rising quickly from her sides to meet it. Light abruptly flared there in her hands, and leapt forward to strike the monster in the chest. It stumbled back once more. And then it grunted, reached to one side toward an abandoned cart, and hefted it in its massive arms. In another moment, wood was hissing through the air and toward the lone woman.

Evelyn was back on her feet, just in time to watch the mass of wood hurtling across the bridge at Dynaheir. She froze once more, but then something was barreling into the Rashemi witch from one side and tumbling away across the stone just as the cart slammed hard into the place where she had been. It burst into a dozen pieces, bounding angrily toward the side of the bridge. The beast roared.

The Ogre stomped quickly forward, hardly paying any heed to anyone else who still lingered on the bridge. It made straight for the dark-skinned woman where she lay, a rather roguish Elf holding her tightly in his arms. Minsc was back on his feet, and Evelyn was suddenly casting about for any sight of anyone else. She heard Jaheira yelling, and a flash of blue brought her whipping about toward the Elven mage. He leapt to his feet, Moonblade in hand. Jaheira was pulling Khalid up beside her. But they were too far away.

Half a dozen men in plated mail suddenly tore past Evelyn on all sides, nearly bowling her over. She had just enough sense to leap out of the way before she was trampled, and then long swords were swinging free and hissing through the air with fierce cries as they made for the beast. But that was not before Ajantis was suddenly there at its flank, swinging in with his elegant blade, shield in hand. The Ogre stumbled once more to a halt, bellowing angrily. One thick arm sent three of the plated men hurtling instantly away.

"Back you fools! Spread out!"

Another of the men in plate mail was yelling, coming up abruptly from behind Evelyn. The brown hair that covered his face did little to hide his anxious scowl, though, as he watched another of those men suddenly caught by the Ogre's massive hands and thrown bodily across the bridge. That one tumbled over the stone side with a sharp cry, plummeting down to the river below. Ajantis stabbed in at its thigh. Evelyn couldn't even hear the splash.

The man beside her growled loudly in his throat, snatching free a long, slender sword from his side. He seemed to notice her of a sudden, those black eyes glinting but calm as they fixed on her.

"Stand back, miss."

And then he was charging forward himself, brown mane tied and bobbing behind his head.

"Wait!"

Jaheira threw her arm up, staying Xan from closing with the beast as the plated men cornered it. But that did not stop her husband from wheeling back with one of his scimitars, and sending the blade whipping hilt over blade toward the thing. It sliced deep into its side, and stuck.

The bearded man in plate mail – the only one without a plumed helm – was shouting to the only two of his fellow men that remained, coming in on the Ogre's flank as they all desperately tried to get their blades past those sweeping arms and massive fists. They were far too slow in their armor, however, and the thing had barely begun to bleed before it had another one of them flying away through the air. The last it snatched in one hand, jaws closing swiftly around the man's helmeted neck and snapping away metal and blood and bone. It slammed what was left of the plated body down into the stone. And then only Ajantis and the bearded man were left.

Coran was standing, bow in hand, and an arrow was plunging deep into the monster's flesh just below the neck. It howled, swung another arm wide, and sent the knight barreling into a carriage and crashing to the ground. The horse that had been bound to it reared, and started dragging the mess away.

The Elf was readying another arrow even as Minsc closed with that massive blade in hand once more. It swiped in at the Ogre's arm, cutting all the way to the bone. But the thing slammed its other fist into the giant Rashemi, again forcing him back and away. His blade clattered away along the stone.

The bearded man was the only one left standing before the beast for a moment. But it was not for long. Leaping aside as the thing swept in for his head, he could not avoid the next blow that sent him hurtling away behind it. Dynaheir was chanting aloud on her feet only paces away.

Jaheira cried out, and Khalid was darting forward instantly, lone scimitar in hand. The Ogre had already started stomping toward the Rashemi witch again, though, and ignored him. He swept in on one flank, snatched at the blade buried in its side, and twisted quickly away. Xan was suddenly hurling a fistful of light at the beast.

Then Imoen was at her best friend's side, and so was the Dwarf, hefting a hammer in his hands. She only hesitated another moment. Eyes still wide, Evelyn leapt forward.

Khalid swept in at the monster's leg, just narrowly missing the joint. Light burst in upon its back from behind, and struck at its chest once more from Dynaheir's outstretched hands, burning away furs and leather and flesh. Another arrow took it in the side of the throat.

The Ogre howled, but did not stop. Instead it picked up speed, lumbering along as quickly as it could toward the dark-skinned woman. Coran loosed once more.

They were closing in on it then from every side, even as it closed on the Rashemi witch, pounding mercilessly forward against the stone. She was screaming archaic words at it, light still flaring within her hands. It snatched up a long piece of jagged wood from the stone beneath it.

Minsc was before Dynaheir again, no weapon in hand. It swept him aside. Coran lasted no longer, hurtling over and a dozen paces away to the ground. Wood struck Khalid square in the chest, sending him sprawling. Xan sliced in with his blue blade at the thing's thigh, receiving a hammering fist in return.

Then the four women and the Dwarf were the only ones left standing, the Ogre bellowing loudly above them. Evelyn threw herself low as that length of wood swept over her head, but Jaheira wasn't so lucky. Yeslick was too short.

A knife bloomed deep in the thing's broad chest, and then Imoen was leaping hastily away too. A hammer struck it square in that lumpy face. Yeslick rolled away. Fire followed the steel quickly after.

It staggered backward, and then Evelyn heard hoofbeats. Lying there on her stomach against the stone, she could feel them echoing along the bridge. But she could hear the Ogre's thundering feet as well, as it rounded back on the witch. She had held her ground.

Her hands were still up and high, readying more fire and light for the monster towering above her. But it was too late. Her black eyes went wide as she abruptly froze. Wood reeled back to take her.

Steel suddenly swept in at the Ogre's arm from behind. It cut deep where Minsc's blade had already sliced down to the bone. And then the thing suddenly flew free from the beast's body, makeshift club tumbling down to the stone below.

A man burst into view from behind the thing, that length of steel held firmly in one hand. Evelyn only stared as she saw the bearded man in plate from before, this time standing astride the horse that she had seen fleeing with half a broken wagon and Ajantis behind it before. He had the severed tethers from the carriage held firmly in one hand.

The Ogre howled, thrashing with one stub of an arm at the man as he came to a stop half a dozen paces away. The horse reared up. The monster started toward the Rashemi once more. And then the bearded man had that slender blade hefted in one hand. He sent it hurtling toward the beast.

Steel slid in almost easily between the monster's ribs from behind, bursting out the front side of its chest. It stumbled on for another step, nearly reaching the dark-skinned woman as she took a few hasty steps back. But then it staggered to a halt, grunted, and fell. Dynaheir leapt aside. And the bridge shook beneath it.

For a moment, everything was silent. Evelyn could only stare, breathing hard as she looked up at the dead, sunken eyes of the beast just beside her. Her own eyes were wide. Just another foot …

But then the bearded man was leaping down from the horse as quickly as he could in his armor, and striding angrily away even as another dozen men rushed down to meet him.

"How in the bloody Hells did an Ogre get on the bridge?!"

Evelyn just let her head fall back down against the stone.

* * *

"And here _I_ was beginning to think that toll duty on the Wyrm's Crossing was the dullest of all assignments a Flaming Fist officer could look forward to. Hmph. The last time I ever listen to those flaming recruits. Report?"

The bearded man suddenly looked up from where he stood behind a desk as a younger, clean-shaven soldier burst into the small chamber, plumed helm tucked into the crook of his arm. The man came immediately to attention, saluting.

"More than a dozen injured bystanders, sir. No few broken bones amongst our men, and you … you know about Gustaf. They're still trying to fish Grenson out of the river."

The bearded man grunted. "Well tell them to hurry up and find the poor bastard. Can't have gone far with that armory on his back. He should have sunk like a stone."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

The bearded man canted his head, and then the other was saluting once more. He turned smartly on his heel and left. The remaining man dropped down into a chair.

"Now tell me," he began slowly then after a moment, steepling his gauntleted hands. "What precisely is a Rashemi Wychlaran doing in _my_ city?"

Dynaheir raised her chin, eyeing the man coolly for a moment. For her part, Evelyn only stared at the man, wondering how he could have known just what she was. But the witch did not speak, those dark eyes impossibly calm despite the two armed men at their backs. Though, Evelyn supposed, they hardly compared to a nine-foot-tall Ogre breathing down her neck. Finally, the man shook his head.

"An Ogre appears out of nowhere on my bridge," he started recounting, his deep voice twisting almost wryly as he looked up and away, "tears apart the crowd but _injures_ only very few. My men, as impetuous and foolish as they might have been, lucky to survive for the most part … indeed, only one of them killed – head snapped off like a cork. Another is thrown into the river.

"Now," his eyes flashed back sharply toward the witch, "I have known a few Ogres in my time – _nasty_, brutish creatures with seldom a care for anyone who got in their way. But rarely do you see one so focused on one target in particular. It all but ignored everyone else unless they got in its way … all … except you." He dipped a finger down toward the other. A small smile played across her lips. Her eyes were cold.

"If thou thinketh that _I_ somehow summoned the beast to slay me …"

"No," the man replied quickly. "I think it obvious that this was the handiwork of someone else. A summoning perhaps. But that you might have been the victim, does not absolve you. Tell me, why should I allow a Rashemi _witch_ – one trailing enemies no less – into my city? What is to stop me from waking up tomorrow to find another Ogre tearing apart the Wide, … or, gods forbid, _magic_ raining down on more innocent citizens?" He raised his brow toward her expectantly.

Evelyn waited then, but the Rashemi's face was almost frozen in that same expression. It seemed very much as if she was resolved not to answer any of the man's questions, no matter how inconsequential, and she could almost _see_ his patience wearing away beneath that bluff stare that he returned. She glanced quickly to Jaheira at her side, but the look the other woman gave her was unreadable. Though, she did not doubt that the druid would be perfectly happy with waiting there until the man finally clapped Dynaheir in irons. Unfortunately, Evelyn wasn't so sure that he wouldn't have done the same thing to them as well.

It had been bad enough that an Ogre had seemingly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the bridge and nearly killed them – or rather, Dynaheir. No one seemed to know just how it could have gotten there, but that had not stopped the bearded man from ordering a small group of soldiers to escort the Rashemi to the nearest guardhouse. He had sent others about swiftly to see to everyone who had been injured, but Minsc had been quick to protest, all but threatening the man bodily. He had assured them that it was for the woman's own protection of course, but that had hardly appeased the giant warrior. It was only after Jaheira had faced him down, telling him to wait and see to the others while they handled it, that Minsc had finally turned grudgingly away. And by 'them' she had meant her and Evelyn, the raven-haired woman already hurrying after the guards as they lead Dynaheir away. Jaheira had followed her up quickly.

The bearded man had hardly seemed to mind, leading them along with a small contingent of guards across the bridge and just inside the city gates. They had moved into one of the gatehouses then, pouring into a cramped chamber to one side. Two guards had stayed behind, allowing Jaheira and Evelyn to shuffle into the room, while the others left. And then he had started asking his questions.

"Hmm? No reason? Shall I put you out of the city?" His patience seemed to slip, and his words grew clipped. "Or perhaps I should lock you away for a little while for disturbing the peace. What about you?" he suddenly turned toward Evelyn and Jaheira, causing the raven-haired woman to start a little in surprise. "Have you anything to say? Or did you just come to watch this seeming mute rile my nerves?"

"She," Evelyn began, hesitating only a moment. Jaheira gave her a warning look. "She's with us." The other woman growled. Dynaheir turned that cold smile on _her_.

"Oh really?" he seemed somewhat less than convinced. Or maybe he was just angry. It was hard to tell. "Well perhaps I should ask you the same question then, seeing as how you are all so intent upon causing troubles on _my_ watch." He looked to them each in turn. "Why would a Rashemi be trying to enter Baldur's Gate … and just why would an _Ogre_ suddenly appear and attack her before she could do so?"

Those dark eyes stabbed at each of them once more, expectantly. Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly wondered just how much they could afford to tell this man. Jaheira had warned her to tread lightly in that city. And she somehow doubted that telling a member of the city guard that they were looking for the leader of the Iron Throne and his son in order to kill them could possibly go over well. She snapped it back shut.

"Oh come now," the man blurted out irritably after a moment more, "our trade can't be _that_ good! As if the Chionthar extended all the way to Rasheman. And an Ogre? Someone certainly seems to want you_ dead_, girl." He frowned suddenly at the Rashemi. "Now I suggest that you start talking, and maybe I won't turn you out to whoever it is then outside the gates!"

Jaheira growled deep in her throat once more, giving Evelyn an impatient look. But then she took a step forward.

"She is here under our service." The half-Elven woman planted both hands on the man's desk, leaning over towards him. "We are looking for the Iron Throne headquarters here in the city." She smiled sweetly. "Could you show us where it is?"

Evelyn stared at the other woman, her eyes widening. But at least she had not told him just what they had meant to do. The bearded man gave her a strange look.

"The Iron Throne?" he mused thoughtfully, studying her. And then something seemed to click behind his eyes. Before he could say anything more, though, the clean-shaven officer of earlier abruptly popped his head back into the chamber.

"They found Grenson, sir," the man informed him, saluting swiftly.

"Good, good," the other nodded his head quickly. "Lieutenant?"

"Aye, sir?"

"Send someone to fetch Captain Grayne. I want him to round up a dozen men for an escort for our friends here." He gestured toward the three women standing before him at the desk. The other canted his head.

"Aye, sir."

"Dismissed."

"An … _escort_?" the half-Elven woman rounded back on the seated man with a dubious frown.

"Yes," the other replied quickly. "I'll have them bring you to the Flaming Fist compound on the other side of the city. I have my rounds to complete, and then we'll discuss this matter further at my convenience."

Jaheira suddenly stiffened, but Evelyn spoke first.

"Grayne? _Captain_ Grayne?"

The bearded man gave her a curious eye.

"Aye. Good man. Served directly under our last captain before she was tragically lost during a recent assignment in the south. He will see you safely to the compound. I will have more questions for you then." The druid was glaring daggers at the man.

"You cannot just–"

"Cannot just what?" he spoke over her swiftly. "I have good reason to believe that you were involved with the incident that took place at the bridge. You are fortunate that I am only detaining you as _guests_ until I can question you further. If you fail to cooperate, your stay here will be all the more brief, and less pleasant, I assure you."

The half-Elven woman hardly seemed to accept that, though she took a step back, looking only as if she wanted nothing more than to thrash the man with the oaken staff strapped across her back just then. But she said nothing. Dynaheir remained cool and calm, though Evelyn could almost see the worry lurking there beneath her dark eyes. The room was quiet then, as they waited.

It was several long minutes later, but finally a man was striding into the chamber briskly. He saluted the seated man, and then gave the three women a curious eye. And only one eye at that. Evelyn had hardly forgotten that empty-socket in the one side of the man's face. It had been partly her fault that it had been put there.

"Commander Scar," Grayne acknowledged. "You have need of me?"

"Captain Grayne," the bearded man – Scar – swiftly stood.

"I want you to escort these three women to the compound for questioning. I will …"

But the captain wasn't listening to the commander just then. Instead he was staring hard at the three women standing beside him. "You …" he breathed, seeming to suddenly recognize them then. Scar looked quickly from him to the three.

"You know these women, Captain?"

"Aye," Grayne acceded softly, and then rounded on the other. "They were there when Captain Vai was killed." He gestured quickly toward Jaheira. "This one helped plan the attack that wiped out the bandits south of the Gate."

"Really …" the commander gave them a doubtful look.

"Aye," he only nodded his head. "And they had something to do with the Nashkel mines as well. We heard no few rumors of their work down there. Enough evidence of it too with the renewed shipments comin' north." Some of the fire seemed to go out of the half-Elven woman at that, and a smile spread slowly across her lips.

"That's right," Evelyn said quickly, keeping her gaze on the commander. He frowned at them anew, but some of the doubt seemed to flee his eyes just then. His lips twitched upwards slightly.

"Perhaps I might have made a mistake then," he told her slowly. "Perhaps we might even be able to help each other."

Evelyn only frowned at that, but Jaheira suddenly spoke up at her side.

"Help us?" she demanded, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Help us with what?" The other gave her a small smile.

"Perhaps no escort is needed. But, Captain Grayne," he turned abruptly back toward the other man.

"Aye?"

"Why don't you set them up with rooms for the night at the Elfsong," the commander offered generously. "Courtesy of the Fist. They _did_ give a valiant fight to help keep our bridge safe from its Ogre menace earlier. It is certainly the least we can do to repay them."

"Aye, sir," the one-eyed man grunted, canting his head. Jaheira was frowning dubiously at the commander, however.

"We can accommodate ourselves just fine, thank you," the half-Elven woman told him irritably. But the man wasn't listening.

"I would like you to meet me at the Flaming Fist compound later tonight regardless," he spoke over her, just the hint of steel in his voice. "As I said, we might be able to help each other." He moved around the desk and past them. "I will be done with my duties by dusk. Meet me outside the compound then. Do not be late," he warned softly at the last. And then he was gone. The two guards that had stood silent behind the three women followed after.

Evelyn stared after the man. Jaheira gave her a pointed look. Dynaheir said nothing. And then the captain was bowing his head to them.

"If you'll follow me," he gestured toward the door. "I'll see you to the Elfsong."

Evelyn tried to ignore the way the older woman kept eying her. She hardly needed any more warnings.

She followed the captain out.


	49. Chapter 5 Fists of Gold

Fists of Gold

_**Fists of Gold**_

Jaheira came to a sudden halt. And then she growled. She rounded back on the others.

"Cover your face," she suddenly spat at Dynaheir, leveling the other woman briefly with a heated eye. "As if we need everyone gawking at a Rashemi. Or, as unlikely as it is, recognizing one."

The darker-skinned woman narrowed her eyes at the druid, but quickly reached back to pull the hood of her light cloak up around her head. And then Jaheira was giving Evelyn a hard look as well.

Captain Grayne had moved past them, hardly noticing as the half-Elven woman stopped them at the fore. He moved quickly over to a large bar on the other side of the room, hailing a portly man standing behind it. There was little doubt in Eve's mind what the other woman's anger was for.

The Elfsong was not far from the gates of the city and Captain Grayne had escorted them there quickly enough. Fortunately, Minsc had done as he was told and gathered the others just inside the gates. Evelyn had been relieved enough to see that none of them had been overly hurt – no doubt due to just what Commander Scar had said about the Ogre being so intent upon Dynaheir and Dynaheir alone. Ajantis had been swift to fret over just how _she_ had fared during the attack, though she hardly thought he could have the right to concern himself so. _She_ hadn't been the one to be smacked into a carriage.

The Tavern lay right in the middle of a large marketplace, teeming with people and peddlers and merchants, all afire with talk about just what had transpired at the bridge. Some had been there, others had only heard it, but word was spreading quickly enough. Fortunately, Grayne had attracted far less notice as an escort for them than what Scar had originally intended would have, Evelyn knew. The first thing she was sure everyone would have guessed was that they must have had something to do with the bridge incident, and they hardly needed that kind of attention. Had she not been so worried about it, she might have even gawked at the first city she had ever been to in her life. But even Imoen had felt the blow of that sudden attack just as she had. And besides, they were there for a reason, and it was hardly to gape or gush.

"What is he doing?"

Imoen came up beside her best friend, gesturing toward the Flaming Fist captain as he started passing over some coins to what she was sure must have been the innkeeper. They were talking quietly to one another, and Grayne thrust a hand back briefly toward the others. Evelyn wasn't the one to answer her, though.

"Keeping us where they can see us." Jaheira pursed her lips, glaring after the captain's back. "And where they can easily find us should they have the need."

Evelyn glanced at the older woman, frowning. It certainly made sense, though, she had to admit. The commander had hardly seemed to trust them at first, and his change of tone had been almost too abrupt. It was easy enough to think that he probably still didn't trust them, though he must have tried to hide it, and keeping them close at hand was exactly what he seemed to be doing at least.

It wasn't long before Grayne was finished with the fat man, however, and was coming back toward them. They still stood just inside the door of the Tavern, having only moved slightly out of the way so that they were not so noticeable blocking the entrance to the common room. It was a sprawling space of tables, eating, dicing, and laughing, and no few of the patrons had noticed them. What they thought of an officer of the Flaming Fist escorting them in and paying for their stay, though, she hardly knew.

"You have your rooms," the man grunted, eyeing them each briefly in turn. "Each of you. The innkeeper will show you to them. Do not forget the Commander's words." And then he was pushing past them and back out to the street without another word. Jaheira's icy glare followed him the whole way.

"He paid for us?" Imoen was remarking then. "Well, that was nice of him at least." The druid only snorted.

"They will expect a price paid in turn. A dangerous enough favor I have no doubt."

Evelyn looked toward her sharply, but received an eyebrow in return. What she intended to do in that city was dangerous enough. And she doubted that Scar could possibly hold them indebted to do anything worse. But that hardly mattered just then.

"Why did that Ogre attack us?" Ajantis was demanding of the half-Elven woman abruptly. "And how did it get on the bridge in the first place?" His tone was clipped and impatient, as if he expected the druid to give him an answer Evelyn knew she probably didn't have right there and then. She only raised her brow at him then too. But, after a moment, she was glancing toward the Rashemi witch.

"'Twas the Thayan," Dynaheir offered softly. She raised her chin. "I know it."

"Conjuration magicks," the Elven mage shook his head grimly at that, looking away toward the common room. They still stood where the captain had left them, attracting no few more glances from the inn's patrons. But they kept their voices low enough not to be heard. "If it was him, then it is strange that we saw nothing of it before. He took no few opportunities to flaunt his own power."

"I agree," Jaheira nodded to one side. "He showed us nothing of such powers before." Evelyn looked from one to the other, certain as well. Xan was right. The man had shown considerable pride in his abilities. If he had had such power, then he would have used it – even if only to show the Rashemi his greater worth.

"Thou must understand," the witch pressed, however, "his kind art more treacherous than thee can possibly believe. Red Wizards–"

"I know well enough about Red Wizards, Wychlaran," the druid silenced her quickly with a dubious eye. "It seems very much to me that you are more trouble than you are worth. And we have enough enemies without you _adding_ to them. The Thayan might just be one."

There was quiet for a moment then, as the darker-skinned woman fixed the other with an icy glare. Jaheira returned it in kind, and, for a moment, it almost seemed as if they might come to blows. Khalid and Minsc both shifted as if they expected it to. Though, after a moment, she realized that it was not so much readiness on the half-Elven man's part to attack the Rashemi should his wife give him word, but to pull her back should she do anything foolish. His eyes were fixed on Jaheira. The giant Rashemi seemed very much as if he would have done exactly what the witch told him, however. Fortunately, it did not come to that.

"What if he was hiding it?"

Both women turned as one to face Imoen, and the pink-haired woman cringed slightly at both those sudden looks. Evelyn even felt sorry for her of a sudden, but her best friend just glanced quickly from one to the other, stiffening.

"You know … he could have been hiding it from us."

"His power?" Jaheira asked incredulously, and Imoen nodded. But the druid only shook her head. "The man was an arrogant fool."

"A fool he was," Dynaheir rounded back on the half-Elven woman swiftly, "but an imbecile he was not. Do not presume too quickly with his kind."

The druid bristled once more at that, turning away toward the other. But she contented herself instead with merely giving her another hard eye. She muttered something after a moment, too quiet to hear, and then she was twisting away.

"We have more important matters to concern ourselves with just now than a rogue Thayan wizard." She snatched her husband's hand and started back toward the inn's door, pulling him quickly along.

"Khalid and I will see to finding out all we can about the …" she trailed off, glancing quickly about the room before giving Evelyn a pointed look.

"What about Commander Scar?" she demanded, though, as the other woman began moving away. The druid gave her another warning eye, and the younger woman colored briefly. But no one seemed to have heard. "What about him?" she pressed after another moment. "He said he could help us."

Jaheira pursed her lips, and then canted her head.

"We will see what the man thinks he knows … and if he can help us." She glanced briefly toward her husband, but the man only rolled his eyes. She narrowed hers right back at him in turn. "I have no doubt that such _help_ in a city such as this might prove useful. If nothing else, we would not wish to antagonize the man. We shall see tonight."

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me as well, sweetling." Coran was moving past her then toward the door as well after the two half-Elves had already vanished through. He cast her a quick look back over his shoulder. "I have the rest of a beautiful day ahead of me, an uncomfortably full purse, and a dangerously piqued loneliness." He raised an eyebrow at her of a sudden. "Unless you'd care to make my stay a little less expensive?" At her confused look, he merely flashed her a grin. "I can still hope. The great city of Baldur's Gate can prove mildly interesting at least. Farewell …"

She wondered, briefly, if he even remembered that he had nearly been killed an hour ago.

"Unless anyone has need of me …"

Evelyn twisted back about, fixing on the Elven mage. He was silent for a moment. But then he nodded his head slowly.

"I thought not." He sighed. "_I_ am going to find my own room and retire early. I think I have seen enough of this city already …" He turned away.

"Me," Imoen suddenly stabbed a finger after the Elf, "me too."

Yeslick didn't even say anything to her. He just grumbled something about already knowing just where Rieltar would be and drowning his grievances in some "piss-water swill" in the mean time, and was stalking away toward the bar. And then she was left with the two Rashemi. Dynaheir turned a slow smile on her.

"My Lady."

Ajantis was at her elbow. She had almost forgotten him.

"Perhaps we should–"

"Yes."

The knight gave her a bemused look, but she only started away as well. After another moment, he followed.

"Lunge!"

Evelyn threw herself forward, letting her back foot stay firm while her front flew ahead a step toward the knight. Her blade came down, moving toward his stomach. He parried it aside easily.

"No," Ajantis shook his head, letting his sword drop, "stay there."

She froze where she was in position, waiting as she had done countless times before as he moved over beside her and began to adjust it. Somehow, she managed to keep perfectly still.

"Back straight." He pushed a hand just below her neck, another to the small of her back, and forced her up. "Do not lean forward." She clenched her jaw tight, breathing out sharply through her nose. "Blade up, eyes on your opponent." His own sword dipped down and raised hers up. "Front knee bent, back straight. Good."

He came around in front of her again, and then dropped down into a crouch once more. "Recover." And she pulled back, mimicking his stance, the Kara-Turian blade in hand. "Now," he gestured invitingly with his left hand, "again. Lunge!"

She lunged at him once more, trying her best to keep just what he had been repeating to her over and over again in mind. Somehow she managed to do it. Her back was straight, her knee was bent, her eyes and blade stayed straight …

"No!"

The knight snatched the end of the Kara-Turian blade in one gauntleted fist, tugging it forward roughly and her along with it. "Blade first! Blade _first_!" He repeated the motion several times, pulling her toward him and then letting her fall back, pulling her forward and then back … forward and back. Her eyes went wider and wider with each time, thinking he would stop, and she was baring her teeth at him by the time he was finally done.

"Lead with your blade first! Blade first!" he snapped on at her, still holding her blade. It was lucky for him that he did, or else she would have been leading her blade first through his chest. It was level.

He continued trying to beat that lesson into her, and she continued wondering just why more senior paladins weren't murdered in their sleep. Fortunately, though, they were alone in the room he had chosen from amongst those Captain Grayne had arranged for them in the Elfsong Tavern, and no one could see that humiliation just then. It was too bad for Ajantis, though, because as soon as he let her go she was going to beat a lesson into _him_. There would be no witnesses.

Before she could, however, he was moving back and out of her reach. He released the Kara-Turian blade back into her hand.

"Now," he began anew. "Try again."

It was all she could do to keep her blade from going too far as she lunged the next few times.

There had been little else for her to do until Jaheira and Khalid returned with whatever they might learn of the Iron Throne in the city or night came and they could meet with Scar. And she had hardly been about to let herself be cornered by the Rashemi witch again. Ajantis had scarcely objected when she had decided to take up practicing once more, though he had suggested using the new blade he had given her in order for her to grow more accustomed to its feel and how it moved. She hadn't cared much for the thought of it, but she could hardly have told him that to his face. But, she had to admit, it was light and moved easily enough in her hand at least. Too bad he was still somehow managing to stay ahead of her even with his own heavier and longer sword.

The room was large enough to allow them to move around some, but the knight had still had to push some of the furniture out of the way. He had complained about not having the proper space to do such things, but quickly agreed with her about not finding some place more open where they would undoubtedly attract notice. In the end, one of the inn's rooms behind closed doors had proven the only real choice.

But no matter how many times he tried to tell her how adept she was or how much better she was getting, it was hard to believe him when he still managed to turn her aside every time. Not that it was very hard with how slowly and carefully she had to move with a live blade in hand. But it was even more difficult to hear any of his seeming praise with the way he kept barking at her every time she made even the slightest mistake. She had lost count of just how many times she had nearly fisted him in the face. Her own had become an almost perpetual red. But there were a couple moments where he seemed to realize just how harshly he was speaking to her, and hastily apologized. They were few and far between, however, and gave way to more yelling soon enough.

Straight thrust, disengage, lunge … advance lunge, parry, riposte, redoublement … feint, beat, cut …

"Coupé!"

Bind, envelopment … high guard, low guard … something he called 'opposition' – He was just moving her blade aside! Their steel danced around in a quick circle–

"Counter-parry …"

He kept shouting words at her … she hardly knew half of what they meant. Nor did she really care. He kept trying to tell her just what each motion was called, and she just kept trying to understand why anyone would have gone through all that trouble to name each and every one. Jondalar had had names for some of the motions he had taught her, certainly, but that had not stopped them from just practicing silently with each other. But even when she wasn't doing anything wrong Ajantis kept yelling things at her. After a while, she just stopped listening.

In a fight, she knew that shouting words at someone would hardly have helped her any. She would do just what she had always done. She would memorize those motions, and repeat. Memorize and repeat. And when they became instinct, when they were second nature to her … they would hardly need names anymore. They would just do what they were supposed to do. Kill.

Unfortunately, they were hardly doing that just then … as much as she began to want them to.

Sometime later, though, when her face was all but on fire and she was sure that her skin must have been blistering from the heat she felt burning there … that long blade came swinging back about to take hers. But she feinted, disengaged … he moved to parry her, she feinted again. Her curved blade spun around his, took it as it struck at hers, they danced … moving faster and faster and then … she knocked his aside, evaded, and then swept in. The edge of her blade thumped roughly against his chest.

Ajantis grunted against the blow, but it was in surprise not pain. He was still wearing his mail. She might have gotten even angrier at the awe-struck look that flashed across his face then, but instead she let her own sword fall a moment after his. A smile crept quickly across her lips.

She had done it! She had done it! She had beaten him with his own moves, and not even had to use any of her own! She had shown him! She had shown him so _very_ well …

He wasn't shouting at her _then_ …

"Good," he breathed incredulously after a moment. "Very good." He was staring at her with a strange look on his face, but she hardly noticed. She was still beaming brightly at her victory, practically bouncing on her feet. After another moment, that long blade was sliding back into its sheath.

"You are very talented, my Lady Evelyn," he told her then, straightening. She frowned at that, but she decided that she would hardly have wanted to continue sparring after being shamed by someone far less skilled than her. But he kept that shame from his face just then. He hid it very well.

"It is remarkable," he continued, facing her down, "especially considering that you are … well, there are few enough women who could be said to court the blade quite so well as you."

They were both sweating freely. Her tunic was drenched, and she had long since discarded her lavender coat. She knew he must have been even more uncomfortable under his chain mail, but he hardly showed it. She was still grinning broadly up at him. And, after a moment, he smiled right back.

"And it is remarkable when … when seeing you, my Lady."

She finally managed to get a hold of herself, and stop grinning like a fool. But it had been hard to resist how wonderful it had suddenly felt to win after so many failures and their accompanying angry barks from the knight. But he was not barking at her then. Instead he had moved a step closer.

"Please excuse me, my Lady. It is just that you … under all of the sweat and grime, there is an extremely beautiful young lady."

She had sheathed the Kara-Turian blade, and she was glancing back up at him. The smile still hung on her lips, but it had started to fade. And then she realized that he had been speaking those words to _her_.

"What?"

"When you smile, your eyes shine so brightly," he continued anew, filling his voice with sudden vigor. "It is a lovely sight, my Lady Evelyn." He cleared his throat. "You are … you are like a summer breeze over the gently rippling waves of the ocean near my home – Waterdeep."

"Wh-what?"

Now the smile was gone, and she was frowning at him in confusion. _What in the Hells is _that _supposed to mean?_ But he just took another step toward her.

"My Lady, might I pose a private question?" he was asking her then, nearly standing on top of her. She glanced quickly about, wondering just what he was doing. They were both covered in sweat and dirty – that was hardly a time to stand close together.

But he seemed to take her hesitation for assent. He took a deep breath.

"We have spent much time traveling and fighting together," he began again after a moment, "and I've started to wonder about one thing … No one should face the evil in this world alone. Have you ever …"

He stopped, suddenly clearing his throat. And then he took another moment to summon some courage to speak anew. She briefly wondered if that was a good thing.

"Have you ever … No, I mean to say – Is there anyone _special_ to you in your life, my Lady Evelyn?"

He was studying her intently, and her brow suddenly furrowed up at him. But she hardly hesitated.

"Yes," she told him quickly, unsure of just why he would ask. It was a strange enough question at the least.

His face suddenly fell for the briefest of moments, and she frowned anew. But then it hardened just as quickly, and he stiffened where he stood. "Who?" was all he asked. She only shook her head, still uncertain of just what he wanted.

"Imoen."

The man seemed suddenly taken aback, and gave her the strangest of looks – even stranger than the one he had been giving her before. "But … my Lady, I have _seen_ you and the girl. You are … you are surely nothing more than _friends_."

She gave him a strange look in return, wondering more and more whether or not he had somehow lost a hold on some of his sanity just then. He was certainly making little enough sense. She nodded, still frowning at him.

"Yes. She's my best friend."

And what was even stranger – the man seemed so suddenly relieved at that. She could almost have wished that she had not sheathed her blade.

"No," the knight raised a hand. "Has there ever been a _man_ you valued above all others … someone you might wish to … to_ return_ to once our duty here is done?"

"Gorion," she answered readily enough. "My father," she added when he gave her that crestfallen and confused look once more. "But he's dead."

"No, no …" The man seemed to struggle with his words once again, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to manage just what he would say next. For her part, Evelyn merely waited, growing more concerned and confused as well by the moment. She started to take a step back …

"I meant someone special," he managed, his face twisting. "A man who has a place in your heart." She opened her mouth to answer him, but he quickly spoke over her. "A man you might love. Not … not as you loved your father."

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering just what he meant by that. But then those eyes went wide.

"What? NO! I don't–"

She felt her cheeks suddenly flush, as she realized just what he meant. For a moment, she couldn't believe it. For a moment she just froze where she stood. But that did not stop him. His relief of moments before had returned tenfold, and he took some sudden kind of strength from it then. He had her gently by the arms, and she just blinked right up at him in surprise.

"My Lady, there is something about you … something special, I know it. I can see it every time I chance to look at you." He shook his head slowly, still peering intently down at her. "Whatever darkness that was that threatened you in the Cloakwood, my Lady, I know not, and I would _care_ not but for my sworn duty to protect you from it. But the good in you burns far brighter – I can see it. And it is my honor – this privilege – that Helm, in his everlasting wisdom, has put you before me."

But she shook her head right back at him. There was nothing _special_ about her … only that darkness like he had said – that demon deep down inside of her that had been put there by someone else. It wasn't an honor. It would have killed him without a second thought! And all she could do to stop it was to find the man who had put it there and kill him first. Nothing else mattered. After that, _she_ would not matter.

But he was suddenly lowering himself down to one knee before her. His fingers slid down her sleeves until he had one of her hands in both of his, holding it aloft between them. She was still too terrified to think to pull it back.

"I ask your permission, my Lady Evelyn," he spoke softly to her then, looking up and holding her eyes firmly still. "As a humble knight of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, and disciple of the Ever Vigilant One, Helm … as the third son and fourth child of Ulguth and Mara Ilvastarr of Waterdeep, the great City of Splendors … I ask you, my Lady Evelyn …" He paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath. And then his words came out in a sudden rush. "Might I court you, my Lady Evelyn?"

For several long moments … she just stared. Her eyes were wide as she gaped down at that man on his knees before her, asking her then if he could … but … but no one should have been asking her that! Especially not … not_ him_ … not knowing what he did. Even what little he did. She started shaking.

"Evelyn."

He frowned up at her. But it was all she could think to say. Why did he keep thinking her some noble lady? Why was he torturing her like this?

"Evelyn," she repeated. And, what was worse, he smiled.

"Evelyn."

He stood.

She suddenly twisted her hand free, and took a step back from him and away. She almost stumbled as she abruptly struck the bed tucked up against one wall. Her lavender coat was lying atop it. She snatched it up.

"Evelyn …," the knight began, but she was already moving away, slowly backing up towards the door. She had the latch in her hand.

"I think … I think that's enough for today. I'll just wait for Jaheira to come back," she stammered hastily at him, throwing the door open behind.

"My Lady Evelyn, wait!"

But she slammed it quickly shut behind her. She leaned back against it, letting out a tremulous sigh and sweeping a hand back through her damp hair. She wondered, briefly, if spending the afternoon with the Rashemi would have been less perilous. But then she suddenly realized that the knight might open the door right back up behind her at any moment. What was she still doing there? She hurried away.

One look toward the end of the hall and the stairs leading back down to the common room and she was turning away, however. That was where he would have been expecting her to go. And she could use a bath besides, she thought, suddenly feeling the damp that still clung to her skin. She was still trembling. But whether it was from nervousness or fear or whatever, she didn't know. And she didn't care. She pushed it as forcefully from mind as she could.

And without another thought, she slung the lavender coat over her shoulder and started towards her room. Somehow, she didn't think she would be sparring with Ajantis again anytime soon.

"Evelyn."

The raven-haired woman glanced sharply toward the other. She frowned at the half-Elven woman. But, after a moment, she realized that the druid must have been speaking to _her_.

"What?"

The woman gave her an odd look, gazing past her toward a narrow alley across the street. Evelyn had been staring down that very dark alley for the past few minutes, too preoccupied to remember just what the other must have said. She had felt something … and after a little while she had realized what she thought that something was. Someone had been watching her, she was sure of it. And she had grown not to like that feeling at all. It never seemed to end well. But the other woman said nothing.

"It is d-dusk."

Jaheira glanced briefly toward her husband before returning to her silent vigil. They were waiting on the street corner across from what looked like a small castle – crenellated battlements, ramparts, and a handful of towers sprawling across the southwest side of the city of Baldur's Gate. Jaheira had told her that it was the compound of the Flaming Fist, complete with barracks and dungeon beneath. She and Khalid had returned to the Tavern barely an hour ago, and Evelyn had joined them as they made their way across the city toward the place. They had been waiting outside ever since.

But she tried to dismiss the thought of someone's eyes on her as she focused her attention back on the compound once more. It was only the three of them – Khalid, Jaheira, and her; the druid had decided that any more would have seemed suspicious. As it was, they were suspicious enough … standing there on a street corner for almost an hour waiting. Fortunately, though, few people seemed to have noticed. That did not stop her from chewing her lip nervously, however. As far as she knew, there was still a bounty on her head. And she didn't need the other woman to tell her that every moment spent out there in the open – especially in the same place for so long – was another moment's chance for someone to try to kill her. And she couldn't die yet … not before she had done what she needed to do.

Those eyes were still there, however, she could feel it. She could almost have stridden right across the street to see just who they might belong too … but that would have been more than foolish. Being lured into a dark alley in a big city at night somehow seemed just like asking for a blade between her ribs. And she was far safer there with Jaheira and Khalid besides. She tried to forget those eyes.

Khalid was right, though. It was dusk already. And they had still seen no sign of Commander Scar since coming there. They hadn't even seen Captain Grayne. And the last thing they wanted to do was to go and ask inside to find out just where they were. They hardly needed to give anyone the impression that they had something to do with the Flaming Fist – Jaheira had been all too quick to point that out again and again. They scarcely needed what attention it very well might have brought. So they could do nothing … but wait.

Sometime later, those eyes stopped watching her. It was a strange feeling, and, for a moment, Evelyn looked sharply toward that alley in surprise. She could see nothing, though, just like before. Whatever it was, it was gone. She quickly wondered if that was a good thing. But it did not last long.

"TIAX _RULES_ ALL!!"

Her head came whipping back about toward the street before them, joining Khalid and Jaheira in looking over at a small fountain in the middle of it near to the compound. There was a small man there, and he was suddenly shouting at the top of his lungs. The few people left on the streets around him had stopped to stare for a moment as well, and he just started ranting anew. Jaheira gave her husband a quick look, but he shook his head.

He was a Gnome, Evelyn realized quickly enough, standing a little over three feet tall, with a woody brown tan, short trimmed beard, and dark blue eyes. He was wearing a rather gaudy loose tunic and trousers stitched with bright fabrics and small precious stones, and waving his arms about wildly. Picking out random people as they passed by, he would stab out a small finger, cursing at them like servants. After another moment, though, one of the two men in plated mail standing just outside the Flaming Fist compound moved quickly over toward him.

The guard started speaking down to the little Gnome, looking irritated and weary rather than angry. After a few words, however, the small man only put his hands on his little hips regally, arching his back as he shouted back up at the much taller man.

"You have disturbed Tiax the Grand again! Such insolence! Tiax will place a mark of shame upon your forehead! All will know of your treachery!"

The Gnome started to move his hands about, speaking some strange words loudly. And then light flared in his palms as he thrust them quickly up toward the Flaming Fist soldier.

Khalid started forward of a sudden, but Jaheira stayed him with a hand. He settled back, giving her a sharp look. But it was too late already.

That little man suddenly threw magic up at the guard standing above him, light flaring in his face. But it did not burst upon the man. Instead it flashed brightly back down around the Gnome. The anger abruptly fled from his little face, and then his mouth twisted beneath that little beard. He gasped.

"It would appear that … the great and … mighty Tiax … has shrunk his undergarments … three sizes this day!" the little man blurted out at the other. "Excuse … the mighty Tiax … while he catches his … his breath … He will rule … later …"

But the guard suddenly snatched the Gnome up by the scruff of his neck. A few bystanders had begun to laugh at the strange spectacle. "You were warned!" the guard bellowed down at the little man. And then he was hauling him away, back toward the compound.

A hand suddenly fell on Evelyn's shoulder, and she nearly gasped aloud in surprise. Twisting around quickly, though, she came face to one-eyed face with a familiar captain. Grayne put a finger to his lips.

"Come with me."

Everyone left in the street was still staring after the little Gnome as he was taken away by the Flaming Fist soldier, and no one saw the three who had been standing there for an hour move quietly away after the guard. Evelyn suddenly wondered if it had somehow been planned that way. Sending a crazed Gnome out into the street certainly seemed like a good enough distraction. But when she saw where he was leading them to, she abruptly thought it could very well have been a trap instead. She recognized that alleyway all too well.

Jaheira did not hesitate, though, and pushed on after the captain. He did not take them far, and soon they were standing in that cramped, dirty alley alone. Another familiar man was waiting there, bearded face hidden in shadow.

"Thank you for coming," Scar told them softly when they came to a stop beside him. He nodded toward the captain, and the other man simply canted his head before moving away toward the head of the alley. He stopped there, gazing silently out into the streets. Jaheira pursed her lips as she looked after him, and then returned to the commander.

"First of all," the bearded man began quickly, not giving her a chance to speak, "I need to know exactly what your affiliation with the Iron Throne is."

But the half-Elven woman merely folded her arms across her chest, throwing him an imperious look right back. "Perhaps you'd best tell us just what _your_ affiliation with the Iron Throne is first." And the man narrowed his dark eyes down at her in turn.

"I told you that we might help one another … but first I must know if I can trust you. You understand, of course, I assume."

Jaheira nodded her head quickly. "I understand that before we tell you anything … we should very well know if we can trust _you_ as well. Do not think us so foolish." The other only grunted.

"I am the second in command of the Flaming Fist," he told her irritably. "I command this city's watch force. If you cannot trust the commander of the guard, then who can you?"

"Indeed, who can we?" Jaheira smiled sweetly up at him. "If you would be so kind as to direct us to him, we'll be on our way."

Evelyn could only stare, looking hard to the older woman. Whatever she had said about antagonizing the commander of the guard earlier seemed to have flown right out of her head at the sight of him. Maybe it had been the long wait. Scar just growled down at her.

"Look, I could just as easily have you apprehended and questioned at my leisure … and I promise you that your answers would be far more forthcoming then. But I wish to keep relations friendly between us, as I _do_ believe that we might help one another. Unfortunately, I cannot give my trust over so easily being just who I am, you must understand."

"Perfectly," Jaheira told him readily. "And neither can we."

The man opened his mouth once more, but stopped, working his jaw briefly instead. But then a cold smile spread across his face.

"Perhaps you would _prefer_ speaking more privately back in the compound then? I am certain, as I said, that arrangements could be quickly made to make you more cooperative." The druid only smiled right back at him.

"You are welcome to try. But there are three of us and only one of you." She cast a quick glance back toward Captain Grayne at the other end of the alley, grinning smugly. "He will not be fast enough."

Khalid made no move beside her, but Evelyn could all but feel the sudden readiness that set about him. And Scar still wore that long blade belted at his side. She had seen just what he had done with it. He had killed that Ogre as if it were nothing. But Jaheira held her ground, her gaze cool and confident. The commander did not waver either.

It was getting them nowhere fast.

There was a long pause, and then the older woman was opening her mouth to speak once more. Before she could, however, Evelyn butted in herself.

"They're trying to kill us."

The bearded man turned those glinting dark eyes down on her then, narrowing. Jaheira rounded on her as well, giving her a sharp and heated look. Evelyn only spared her a brief glance, returning that look.

"Oh really …"

Scar was still staring at her. And then he looked to each of them in turn. His tone was dark and doubtful for a moment … and she began to wonder if it had been the wrong thing to say. She hugged her arms around herself self-consciously, deciding quickly that she didn't care much for dark alleys. But it had been better than telling him that they were trying to kill the Iron Throne instead – or at least its leader and his son. The druid seemed to agree with her somewhat at least, rounding back on the guard commander and crossing her arms as well. Khalid said nothing, still ready to pull those scimitars free from his back at a moment's notice. Evelyn was only happy that she had kept her staff this time.

"Well I can only think that you must not be friends of theirs then," the commander was saying slowly. A small smile lit his face. "Though, I would not put it past them to treat their own friends and associates so either." And then he was hard once more. "Grayne seems to think you trustworthy enough at least. He did not think the Iron Throne so concerned about bandit activity as to care enough to help dismantle it."

He canted his head sharply.

"Very well, then. In any case, if you are against the Throne, I can probably trust you."

Jaheira only raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. He took them all in again, and then nodded his head once more.

"What I am about to tell you must be held in the strictest confidence, do you understand?" He gave them each a pointed look in turn. No one spoke. Then, seemingly satisfied, he continued.

"There have been … _concerns_ … over the activities of the Iron Throne of late – primarily their recent successes in this city's merchant quarter. The other prominent trading costers have begun to dwindle in their influence, and also to demonstrate a disturbing lack of initiative and sound mercantile leadership. In their place, the Throne has risen to some prominence." He shook his head. "Disturbing … to say the least. I have even heard word that they might begin to enter negotiations with the Knights of the Shield. And we believe that they might be actively trying to disrupt other merchant companies to their own ends …"

The half-Elven woman stood listening to him, her arms folded over her chest, and nodding emphatically at every other word. But finally he stopped, giving her a dark look. She smiled innocently up at him.

"And just what would you have us do about it?"

He growled deep in his throat, and what little seemed to remain of his patience fled from his bluff face in an instant.

"Do not mistake me, half-Elf … these are dangerous times for my city," he rumbled down at her. "The iron shortage has disrupted a _good_ many things here in the north, and many are all too willing to point a vindictive finger at Amn, seeing as the source of this problem began in _their_ mines. The Zhentarim, as well, have hardly avoided accusations." He narrowed his eyes. "And if you _are _the ones who cleared up that fiasco at Nashkel … well then I'll have to say, you've done much to add to the commotion up here in Baldur's Gate."

He cocked his head to one side, still fixing the other with a hard eye. His lips twitched slightly upwards.

"I will not lie to you … I can't really put my finger on a single source, but there have been many strange happenings going on within the city. It has been getting harder and harder for me to put trust in someone … anyone. That is why I need outsiders to do some investigations for me, and, coincidentally enough, we seem to share a common foe."

Jaheira gave a more genuine smile then, and pursed her lips. "Well, thank you … for finally finding some trust before asking us to do your dirty work for you."

He scowled at her.

"I would not even ask if I were able to do it myself," he growled right back. "But I am too well known and far too visible – being the commander of the Flaming Fist in this city. I cannot peek my eyes into every hole at once – most vermin would go scurrying at the thought of me doing just that – and I have no few doubts that there are at least_ some_ among my own men that might gladly warn them for the right price. Mercenaries do not forget their habits easily."

"But mercenaries we are not," the druid told him quickly. "Do not expect us to hire our services out to you for coin." The man only nodded.

"I do not expect you to," he assured her, "though I will gladly fund any efforts you make in this regard. I will help you … so long as you help me." He leaned forward. "You did not honestly expect to walk through the front door of the Iron Throne's chapter house, did you?"

"The thought had occurred to me, yes."

"Well forget it," Scar ordered firmly. "If they are trying to kill you as you say then they undoubtedly know your faces and names well enough. And if they do not, well … they are cunning and wealthy enough that I would not doubt that they knew of you the moment you even _thought_ to enter this city. You would be lucky if the guards at the front only turned you back out into the street. As it is, I would be careful walking back to the inn after tonight. We have had enough strange disappearances at night of late, and you have one more reason than many to simply vanish without a trace.

"No, I will offer you an alternative," he continued more slowly after another moment. "Help me and I will find a way for you to get inside the Iron Throne. I think your intentions obvious enough."

He gave them a scrutinizing eye, and Evelyn suddenly wondered if he meant the blood that they intended to shed. When those dark eyes turned to her in turn, though, all doubt fled from her mind. And, after another moment, she was beginning to wonder just how long he might have known. Jaheira seemed somewhat less than perturbed, however.

"And what would you have us do?" she asked pleasantly. "At what price does the Flaming Fist sell itself for now?"

Evelyn winced at the other woman, but the commander seemed to keep his temper in check. That did not stop his eyes from boiling, though.

"I would suggest you investigate their suspected activities in the other merchant organizations of this city. Disrupting them there in turn might very well weaken your enemy for you just enough to strike. In the mean time, I will do my part and see what I can do about getting you inside. Enough chaos sown among their ranks and it will be easy enough to breach."

"And exactly _what_ are we supposed to be investigating?"

"The leader of the Seven Suns trading coster happens to be a personal friend of mine," he explained, keeping the growing irritation from his voice. "But the leadership there, as we've begun to notice in some of the other merchant companies, has been acting strangely of late. They've been selling off valuable assets and neglecting many of their more profitable trading ventures. Considering the importance that the trading coster holds over the economy of the city, the Grand Dukes are noticeably upset. I went to speak with my friend, the coster's head, Jhasso. But he rudely rebuffed me, telling me to mind my own business." He frowned at that.

"Now I've known Jhasso for many years … and this isn't his usual behavior. But I can't start up an official investigation, as there is no real reason for doing so … just one more reason why I need you to do so for me.

"I want you to break into the Seven Suns compound," he continued, "and find out what's wrong. But I want you to use discretion," he stabbed a finger down at the druid. "I don't _need_ this operation to cause too much fuss. The most important person to watch for is Jhasso. Once you've found out as much as possible, report back to me."

The man finished then, and almost took a step back. For a moment, Jaheira was silent, though that same unreadable expression had never left her face. She gave her husband a brief look, and then turned toward Evelyn in turn. For what it was worth, the raven-haired woman nodded her head quickly. If the man was right … well, then they might very well need his help in getting close to Gorion's murderer. And that was all that mattered. She would do whatever she had to in order to see it done.

"Very well then," Jaheira rounded back on the commander. "We will help you." The man suddenly grinned.

"Good." And then his tone was clipped once more. "I will meet you again, here, in three nights' time. Hopefully we will have something valuable to share with each other then. Good luck."

He moved quickly past them, and back toward the end of the alley. Grayne gave them a curt nod before following in the other man's wake. Once they were gone, Jaheira cast another hard look her way. She hardly needed it.

They left.


	50. Chapter 5 Morning Due

_**Morning Due**_

Evelyn looked up from where she had been staring, catching sight of two familiar brown eyes as they fixed on her in that brief moment. The handsome face that accompanied them hardly seemed to register her, though, and she cocked her head thoughtfully to one side. After another moment, his gaze had dropped back down to the book cradled atop his lap. He scratched a few more lines into it before glancing up toward her.

Those tilted eyes widened slightly in surprise for a moment. But that did not stop them from drinking in yet more of the image before again touching charcoal to parchment. She gave the Elf a small frown.

"What are you doing?"

They were sitting in one corner of the common room of the Elfsong Tavern, tucked away against a large stone fireplace that roared just before them. It was still early in the morning, but she had hardly been able to sleep. Far too much had been weighing on her mind to sleep.

She was bundled in her cloak like a blanket, not feeling the heat of the fire much. It was small; the innkeeper had not yet risen at that impossibly early hour. But it did not bother her. She had only come there to think in quiet for a time. Too bad the Elf had begun to prove distracting.

Xan arched an eyebrow at her, but then continued what he was doing. "Nothing important," was all he said, distractedly, after a moment, though he kept casting wayward glances at her every so often. It didn't take her long to realize just what he might have been doing.

Jaheira and Khalid had made swiftly for their shared room after they had come back, the half-Elven woman promising only that they would begin to decide just what they would do about the investigation Scar had asked them to do in the morning. They had three days to do it, but that hardly meant that they would be wasting time. They knew nothing of the Seven Suns or any of the other merchant costers that the Iron Throne might have been meddling with. But that was hardly what she cared about.

"What are you drawing?" she asked the Elf then. It might not have distracted her as easily had she really wanted to think so much about Gorion and demons and black-plated murders. Or even how close they were to finding Sarevok Anchev. Three days was far too long to wait.

He gave her a brief, solemn smile. And then he looked up at her once more before returning to the book.

"Shadows and dust."

She frowned at that, but he said nothing more. And she wondered just what he meant by looking at her so. The fire cast all shadows from her. And it wasn't all that dusty in there. The Tavern was clean enough. But, she thought then, shrugging, it didn't matter much. She had not come there to bother him.

The common room was all but empty; it was far too early for any but a few others to be lingering about. She had been surprised to see the Elven mage up and about – though, she supposed, he had never seemed to sleep so long as the others did. Neither had Coran for that matter … and she started wondering anew for a moment just where that man might have lost himself to. He had not returned last night as far as she knew, strangely enough, but he had said something about enjoying the town. She only hoped that he was alright.

Xan had been quiet, thinking to himself as well it had seemed to her, and she had not thought so much of sitting down there on that side of the room near to him. He had seemed surprised to see her but had said nothing, and she had left him alone. She wasn't even sure just when he had produced that book and that piece of charcoal from within his robes. For the most part, she had tried to ignore it.

But that fine hand kept scratching and scribbling away to one side of her, and those brown eyes never seemed to stray far. The moments stretched on forever. And, after a time, she turned back toward him.

"I didn't think shadows were so hard to draw."

His gaze flashed upward toward hers. For a moment, he just stared. Whatever thoughts had been rolling around in his head for the past hour continued bouncing around for her to see in that moment. And then he smiled sadly at her.

"Would you like to see it?"

He hardly waited for her to answer before holding the book up before him. She had to lean in closer from where she sat on her small bench facing the fireplace toward his seat against the wall. But her eyes widened as she saw that soft, familiar face … shadowy tresses tumbling down about to a swaddling cloak. Those dark eyes were staring, and thoughtful. But they registered nothing of the black thoughts she had been thinking. Instead, it almost looked … innocent.

It was a picture of her, she realized quickly, and she wondered just why he had thought to waste the past hour drawing it. He must have been incredibly bored … or else far less preoccupied than she had thought. She felt momentarily sorry for that.

She had not thought that she was intruding earlier – she had hardly meant to bother him. The fire had just seemed somewhat more inviting than the rest of the room, as chilly as it felt, and she trusted him far more than the few people slinking about at that dark hour. But he seemed to read something of her thoughts just then.

He pulled the drawing back quickly, frowning as he glanced down toward it once more. "A memory perhaps," he uttered quietly after another moment. And then he fixed back on her. "You may have it if you wish. I had thought to keep it, but I am reminded of just how futile such a thing would truly be." He tore the page from the book swiftly, and then handed it across to her. "Perhaps it will remind you of me when I am gone."

She hesitated for a moment, frowning at the sound of those words upon his tongue. But then she reached out and took the drawing gently from him, trying to give him as thankful a look as she could manage instead.

"Thank you, Xan."

"Do not thank me, Evelyn," he said quickly though. His face suddenly seemed to fall. "You are as beautiful as hope, and just as elusive. To think to capture you so is one of my greatest follies." He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Yet," he continued then after a moment, "I seem not to have learnt my lesson … even now, so close to the end."

"What do you mean?"

She merely shook her head, thinking briefly that she might have somehow hurt his feelings. But he just grimaced. And then, after another moment, he made as if to take the drawing back from her hands.

"I should not burden you so," he lamented softly. "It would be best if you just forget." She waited … but he did not take it from her.

He let his hand drop, but she still frowned anew, wondering just what that was supposed to mean. Forget what? Him? But she didn't ask. She just turned back to the fire instead, holding the parchment in one hand. She doubted that she would forget him … any of them. The weeks that had begun to drag behind her since Gorion had died had been the worst of her entire life. She only _wished_ that she could have forgotten even half of what had happened. And one grim Elf was hardly about to vanish from her memories any faster than anything else.

She studied the drawing then for a few moments more, awed by just how well done it had been, despite its hasty scratching. She still didn't understand why he would have wasted so much time on it. Still, it was not her in that picture. She had no right to look so peaceful anymore. No one seemed to see that. She had thought that he might at least.

She sighed.

After a little while, though, she realized that she wasn't the only one studying it there in the dim light.

"I have a bad feeling about this." The Elf's voice sounded softly, tentatively after a few minutes silence. His eyes were dark and anxious then as they looked away toward the fire. "All of this. There is suspense in the air … a heavy gaze that I can physically sense. The Fates have nothing kind in store for you." He gave her another sad smile. "But you knew that. I have told you as much so often before." But then his face suddenly fell again. "The world must truly be ending … if the most beautiful of women walks and none can avert her dark fate."

He scowled then at his own words, not seeing her for a moment. She really wished that she had not bothered him. As much as she had been afraid that Ajantis might waylay her outside her own room, it would have been better than making the Elf suffer any more. Whatever he had been thinking about, she had just seemed to make it worse.

"Don't worry about me," she told him gently, reaching out a hand to rest it comfortingly on his knee. He was rambling, she knew, but she could well feel the pain there. It sounded as if he had finally given up on trying to avert her from that path – gods knew he would never have succeeded in the end. Whatever would happen to her, he wasn't going to stop it. No one was. And it hardly mattered in the end. She had begun to accept that. "I will be fine."

And she was hardly about to start letting him hurt himself even more for _her_ sake. He had his own terrible fate to look forward to. He had made that clear enough to her.

But he just stared at her hand for a moment, his face grim. His brow twitched briefly, and so did his lips. And then he looked at her.

"Evelyn, you are so young and naïve you wring my heart," he spoke miserably then, frowning. "You're life is such a fragile thing – you do not even see it …_you_ who have so much more reason to believe than most. A stray arrow, a loose brick, a poisoned glass of wine … and you are dead." He shook his head. "If only the Fates were so kind."

And then he turned away once more. She gave him a worried look, feeling some of that sadness bleed into her. It was her fault he was feeling so terrible of a sudden then. She knew she should have said something nicer about the picture …

"You have never been abducted and tortured," he continued quietly after a moment, almost to himself. "Decades of aimless wanderings do not wear you down." He winced. And then his eyes flashed briefly toward hers. "You have never loved anyone … You do not even _comprehend_ the notion of death and dying."

But she did. She had. She had been doing just that.

And the last thing she wanted was for him to suffer so because of _her_. She felt herself sink just a little bit further down into the bench as she watched him, sighing. Why did she have to keep hurting everyone?

For a long while, he did not speak, merely staring down into the fire … or at the floor. She couldn't really tell. Thoughts flashed across his face, though – she could see them twisting there beneath the smooth skin as she watched. It made her quickly regret taking the drawing from him then. At least that had given him something else to think about, even if it was something so terrible as her.

"Perhaps …" His face convulsed briefly for a moment. And then it settled once more. He glanced toward her. "Perhaps it would be best if we parted ways."

She looked up at him sharply, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What?" she breathed. "Why?"

For a moment she hardly knew what else to say. But she _knew_ just what had put that thought in his head then. She didn't have to ask. It was her … it was her fault. He had finally had enough of her. She knew the answer even before she asked the question. But the look he gave her then was so sudden and so severe … she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"What about your duty?" she asked softly. She shouldn't have. She should have been happy that he had finally decided to get away from her. She could hardly have caused him any pain if he was gone. But he only sighed, and turned back away.

"For some time, I was forcing myself to go on at your side … not because of that, but because I thought I might spare you somehow." He grimaced. "You have saved my life, and I have yet to save yours. But my words have done_ nothing_." His eyes wandered for a brief moment, struggling with the thoughts still rolling around in his head just then. They fixed suddenly back on her. "You have doomed yourself against every warning I have given you … and even now, when I look into your eyes … I can see the death waiting there."

"Xan–" she started to shake her head. But he cut her off quickly

"I cannot _stay_, Evelyn." Those brown eyes were like dark thunderclouds in his head. "I cannot stay … only to watch your death. I would fall first – to spare myself that pain … but I am far too much a coward to do the deed myself. An enemy's blade will have to do. And if I leave," he gave her another sudden, pained look, "if I leave and finish this task alone … maybe … maybe my sacrifice might actually be able spare you in the end where my words could not."

But she was shaking her head fiercely at him. She felt a little anger slip free at those words.

"You can't stop me, Xan. I will do this. No one else." No one else was going to kill her father's murderer … but her. She had already sworn that long ago. "You can't … so just … stop."

But he only shook his head right back.

"You are such a child," he muttered angrily. "You do not see the futility of it … the _inevitability_ of giving yourself over to this … to … to _death_. I should not have warned you. I should have _left_ and done as I intended without word … I should have done as that hound of Shevarash had done. He was wiser than I. I might yet have saved you then."

But she snatched his hand up, holding him firm. "No, Xan!" she told him heatedly. "Don't you _dare_ think you can take this away from me! No one is taking it away from me! Not _you_ … not anyone! He is _mine_ …"

He only looked at her, though, a pained and hopeless cast abruptly swallowing his face once more. He did not try to flee or leave. He just turned his head from side to side slowly, frowning ever deeper.

"I should not have told you … I should have _just_ left …"

He kept shaking his head over and over, and she just kept a crushing grip on his hand as if he might suddenly try to run away and do something foolish. "Do not make this any harder than it is," he muttered on. She only glared all the harder.

At some point, though, he fell silent, and she realized that he was staring at something. And with a quick glance down to her hand, she realized just what that something was. It was the picture he had drawn.

She had clenched her hand tight, and the parchment had crumpled easily in her fist. That innocent looking face had vanished, and she glanced up quickly toward the other. She felt all the heat abruptly flee from her at the look on his face then.

"How fitting."

She didn't look at him. She just set the crumpled drawing down carefully beside her, and slumped back even further into the bench. Her arms slipped slowly up beneath her cloak to wrap around her chest.

Silence stretched on between them anew then; she could almost have thought nothing had happened at all. She didn't look at his face. She just tried to stare down into the dying fire and forget whatever she had done. If she hadn't hurt his feelings before, she had certainly done so now. In a way, it almost made her happy that he would be leaving. At least he would be beyond her reach. She would be damned if she let him try to get himself killed just to stop her though. That would have been no better than having him stay and risk himself at her side. She would kill him herself if he even tried.

After a little while, though, Xan pushed himself up from his chair and moved over beside her. He took the drawing carefully in his hands and gently smoothed it back out against one knee. And then he folded it up and took her hand in his. He pressed it there.

"I think I would have you remember me," he told her quietly then. His fingers forced hers to close over the folded parchment, and he pushed it back towards her. "I am sorry for that. I truly am."

She looked over at him, trying to keep some of the guilt and pain she felt from her face as she did so. She was starting to wonder why she ever bothered to go near any of them at all. Things would have been much better if she had just somehow managed to lock herself away. All she ever seemed to do was find a way to hurt their feelings or get angry at them. And _he_ was supposed to understand that better than any of the others. _He_ was supposed to know just what terrible fate she was bound to suffer._ He_ was supposed to … to … to _understand_ …

But he just sat there, his brown eyes flashing from first one of hers to the other. He had told her just what he would see there. Death.

But then he kissed her.

It was for the briefest instant … One moment he was sitting there, studying her as grimly as he ever had … and the next … and the next he was brushing his lips gently against hers – not pushing or forcing, as she had almost become used to with Coran's frequent antics … but carefully and tenderly … almost politely. And then he pulled away …

He did not linger; he didn't even touch her more than that barest caress. His eyes flashed open once more as he slowly drew back … and then they went wide. The horror there matched her own quite nicely.

"It is even worse than I could have possibly imagined," he uttered then, the words tumbling quickly from his lips as if fleeing from some unimaginable terror. She could only stare at him, her throat clenching tight.

His eyes squeezed slowly back shut even as his face scrunched up. He seemed for the world as if everything had just suddenly collapsed in on him. But, she knew quickly enough … that was exactly what it had done.

"I … I _feel_ for you, Evelyn," he told her abruptly in the next moment, his eyes snapping back open. "Oh _gods_ … this affliction has grown more terrible than I could have possibly believed! This perverse affection will destroy me – I … I knew it would!"

For her part, she just sat there … still frozen where he had left her, wide-eyed and in shock. But then her mouth was suddenly moving, trying desperately to make words. Finally, something seemed to come out.

"Wh … what did you do that for?"

He gave her a sudden, horrified look. "I had to know!" he pleaded fiercely, almost frantically. "I _had_ to know the truth so that I could _leave_ once and for all! I had hoped it would be nothing … I had thought … I could have stood the humiliation of it, the shame … but _this_ … _not_ THIS …"

And then his hands were suddenly snatching at her, taking her by the sides of the face as his eyes bored intently into hers. For a moment, those fingers slipped, sliding back through her hair, and some of the fire fled from those impossibly deep, brown, boiling pools. They flickered there for a moment, but then they snapped fiercely back toward hers.

"You must tell me that you felt nothing, Evelyn … you _must_!"

He tried to shake her, opening his mouth once more. What little shred of sanity there was left to him, it had all but fled. She leapt to her feet, tearing herself away.

She stared down at him, tears suddenly burning at her eyes. Why was he doing this? _Why_? He was supposed to understand … he was supposed to … but … but he didn't. He was no better than Ajantis. And she would destroy him too. Why couldn't they _see_ it?

But his eyes were unwavering and fixed. They were almost feverish.

"You must kill this, Evelyn. Now."

She shook her head fiercely, biting back more tears. Why were they doing this? Why _now …_?

"Please, Evelyn. Before it is too late … Please …"

But she spun about on her heels, and hurried away. The common room of the inn flashed around her quickly; there was almost no one there. She could be just somewhat thankful for that. She didn't bother to go up to her room. They might find her there.

She was out on the streets in the next instant. The Elf didn't follow. Somehow, she had thought that he would. But she was glad that he didn't. She took a sudden, deep, trembling breath, glancing desperately up at the sky. Her blood was pounding and her heart was rattling wildly against her chest.

The stars still shown above … it was far too early even for the sun. And it was cold besides. She still had her cloak bound tightly about her. But she didn't feel it. She didn't feel _any_ of it.

There was nothing _special_ about her … no matter what Ajantis had said. She was a monster. She was something terrible and destructive and evil. Everyone around her just seemed to die if they waited long enough. Why couldn't they see that? And Xan was supposed to be wiser … he should have been cleverer than the knight at least. But he only just made the same mistake. How could he _possibly_ make that mistake? She was going to _kill_ him …

No.

She swiped angrily at the tears in her eyes, growling pitifully deep in her throat.

She would run away. It was that simple. She would run away before anything happened to him … before anything happened to Ajantis too. She would leave … and it would end. It would be over. To the Hells with Elminster … she wasn't going to let them die because of her! She wasn't! She … she just wasn't!

She started to turn away. She started to run away … as fast as she could. She didn't know where she would go. She didn't know what she was going to do when she got there. But she knew what she would do before the end. She knew what she would do to _make_ it end. But she didn't get far.

Something caught her up swiftly. She had barely taken more than a step before it did. And then she was falling, collapsing down haphazardly to the stone. She only felt that thing strike her suddenly on the back of both legs. And then both had buckled. She tried to cry out as her head smacked back against stone.

Someone pushed into view above her, looking down. She tried to squint up into the dark. But then something struck her suddenly across the face.

The night swallowed her whole.

* * *

"Ohhh …" 

She was wincing, and trying to reach a feeble hand to her head. It came away wet … and sticky. It only took her muddled thoughts a few moments to recognize blood.

Squinting, she tried to bring the hazy world around her back into view. It did little good, though, even as she slowly shook her head from side to side to get a better look. Everything was blurred and swimming lazily about. She could just barely feel the faintest bit of light beating down on her.

"This be the one ye wanted, wizard! Don't be givin' me any more a yer bleedin' tongue!"

Evelyn turned suddenly toward the sound of voices … or tried to. She had to blink away more blood to do it. She realized they had been buzzing at her ears for some time before. She hadn't even noticed.

"Montaron, you are so AGGRAVATING!!! 'Tis disturbing to my demeanor!"

"Quiet your _blasted_ mouth, ye fool! Do ye want someone to hear?"

There was a pause then, and she tried to rattle her skull free once more. It did little good.

"Ye said this be the one … She was alone. I took me chances, wizard. Just be happy I got her at_ all_ …"

"Very well … Given the rather _disturbing_ lack of good fortune in these circumstances, it will have to do … Stand her up."

Evelyn felt hands snatch at her roughly then, pulling her up by the lavender coat. She grunted, her head bobbing. But then something took a fistful of her collar and pulled her close. She blinked up into two bright green eyes, their icy depths fixing intently upon her. It made her dizzy.

"Yes … yes … _yes_ …"

She choked and then swallowed. And then a face came into view. It was painted beneath a deep green hood.

"I think she will do nicely. Oh, just exquisite …"

Something sounded behind her, and she just barely made out the second voice once more. Her head was still swimming.

"Ask her yer questions and be done with it, wizard! Before the Fist finds us …"

"What?" the face before her suddenly demanded, twisting away. "Who are you? Dead? No, no, no … silence your jabbering skull, mutant. Back to the grave!"

The other only growled viciously back. "Do what ye will and kill 'er, Xzar! Or I'll kill her now meself and gods help me iffin' I don't stuff yer flamin' hide down the hole as well!"

Her eyes found the hand grasping the front of her coat then, and she slowly connected it to the green-robed form standing before her. Its painted face was still glaring away at that other voice.

"Errr," it growled aside. "I will deal with you later, corpse. You should know better than to wander away from the dark." It turned away before the other could speak. It fixed once more on her.

"Now … tell me all you know, little one. Do not make me open up your skull and soil my new boots. You would not like me when I'm soiled …"

She glanced quickly up at the man holding her aloft with one arm, her eyes suddenly going wide. And then she looked over toward the one he had been speaking to … and her eyes went even wider. They snapped back on the wizard.

"You," she breathed in shock. And then she twisted back toward the vicious looking little child-man. "Y-you're … you're dead …"

The Halfling gave her a cruel smile, baring all his teeth.

"Aye," he grunted softly. "And I'll be returnin' the favor soon. No little wood-dancin' Elves ta save ye _this_ time."

She glanced from one to the other, not believing. But those faces were the same. That painted madness was the same. The wizard's eyes danced angrily as they bore into her.

"What are you doing here, dead one?" he asked then slowly from beneath his cowl. "What do you know of the Iron Throne …?"

But she didn't answer him. She just stared.

And then she felt the blood trickling down the side of her face. She glanced to one side, catching sight of the cudgel in the little man's hands. Her eyes narrowed then.

Before either of them could do anything, her fist was suddenly slamming palm first into the wizard's chest. His grip snapped free almost instantly as he stumbled, and she was abruptly back on her own two feet once more. She had to struggle to steady herself for a moment, her head still ringing. But that hardly stopped her boot from flashing upward for his chin in the next instant. He tumbled over and away.

She was too slow, though, and the Halfling had her around the waist, throwing himself bodily into her and sending them both toppling over to the ground. She crashed down into a pile of refuse, scattering garbage, and it was only then that she realized the wide alley they had been standing in. Steel flashed free, and she heard the Halfling cry out angrily, but she was rolling quickly away. In another moment, she was back on her feet.

She didn't even bother to wait for the little man to come at her again. Without another thought, she was flying away down the alley and back toward the street. Voices roared loudly at her back.

"M-Montaron! Bring her to ME!"

"Shut it, wizard!"

It was all but pitch-black in the alley, and the stars hardly helped her as she stumbled forward as fast as she could. But the dark hardly slowed the Halfling as he suddenly barreled into her again from behind. She went down once more, the little man falling atop her. Steel scraped loudly against dirty stone.

For a moment, he was clawing there at her back, scrabbling along her coat and leggings and grunting against her skin. For a moment, she panicked, waiting for the feel of metal sliding into her flesh. But then her elbow was suddenly whipping back and toward him. It took her several tries, but she eventually cast him from her. She leapt back up to her feet once more.

Staggering wildly then, she desperately tried to make her way forward toward the street. She heard the Halfling suddenly back up behind her, and then something was hurtling through the air toward her back. She stumbled away, just barely missing it. Steel struck stone at the building beside, flashing brightly in the dark. Her head whipped instantly toward it as it ricocheted away. That was all it took.

Suddenly, there was nothing under her feet anymore. Time seemed to slow for one terrible moment … and then she was falling. She just had time enough to scream as she slipped down into the ground … and then her chin struck stone abruptly, snapping her head back. The earth swallowed her whole.

She was looking up into the dim light as it faded into a small circle above, the stars still shining faintly in the night sky. It all passed up and away from her slowly, her arms flailing up as she fell. And then, just as abruptly as it had gone, the ground was suddenly there beneath her once more. Her feet struck haphazardly on stone, and she crumpled down with a grunt.

For a moment, she lay there, breathing hard and squeezing her eyes shut. Then she was slipping a clumsy hand beneath her back and pulling a rough stone out. She cast it away irritably with a wince. Finally, she looked back up to the hole above.

It was dark down there … impossibly dark. And it grew darker still as a small form appeared above the hole, gazing back down at her. She could barely see anything around her; only that weak shaft of light overhead cast a circle along the stone below. There was the soft gurgle of water somewhere close, though, and she could feel more dripping down on her from somewhere in the dark. That thing growled down at her from above.

"Montaron, you fool!" Another shape joined the first, both glaring down at her in the dark. "The tomb is unsealed! _Answers_ first … _then_ death!"

It was some kind of sewer, she quickly realized then. She blinked up against the dripping water, swatting it along with blood from her face.

"It hardly matters, wizard! Ye've got the other one … just kill 'er and …"

"Hssss!" The taller one twisted suddenly away. "Someone is coming!"

The smaller shadow grunted, growling irritably once more. And then it reached aside for something she couldn't see. As she started climbing to her feet, the light began closing off above. It was as if a cloud were passing over the stars, but she could hear the metal scraping on stone and that little man grumbling and straining against the weight. There was a brief flash of light as his eyes caught hers for one last moment … and then metal thumped down into place. And then there was nothing at all.

Everything was black. For a moment, she just stood there, breathing raggedly and feeling every cut and bruise and sore spot on her body. She touched a hand gingerly to her chin – she had scraped it badly. Not to mention all the other pains she had been given in those past few minutes. But the silence was thick, and the sound of her breathing cut through it like a knife. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes. She tried to hold her breath.

Panic started to settle in. She could feel it clawing at the insides of her skull. She was sucking air back into her chest soon enough, trembling as she did so. It was impossibly loud against the stillness. And she could only stare up to where she knew that hole must be. It was hard not to collapse back down to her knees just then.

She was trapped. She was crying before she could help it. Somehow … somehow she had fallen down there and they had left her … they had left her there to die alone in the dark. She would have suddenly given _anything_ not to have run away from the Elf before. Some of that light … just a little bit … would have meant more than the world to her just then.

She started to sink down to her knees … wondering how she could _possibly_ find her way out of there in that hopelessly thick gloom. She had suddenly been struck blind – her eyes might as well have been squeezed shut, leaving her to fumble pitifully around for anything that might help. But it was like some terrible chasm had opened up around her at the very same time. She could almost _feel_ the emptiness of that darkest place like a gaping maw that had swallowed her whole. And she suddenly couldn't help sobbing.

The hole was too high. Those walls would be too slick; she couldn't climb! But there were tunnels around her … Oh, yes … stretching _endlessly _around her. She was going to have to find another way out. How was she going to do that? She couldn't see … She would just have to … to …to do _something_!

But she didn't. She just sat there, suddenly feeling very alone and insignificant there in the dark. She would wait. Yes, that was what she would do. It was better than getting herself lost in the endless gloom where no one would find her. Maybe those two would even come back to finish whatever they had started. Maybe they would come back to _kill_ her …

She shook her head, but did not move. She would just … just wait.

Sometime later, though … she heard something.

Her eyes snapped open instantly, and she froze. How long had she been down there? Not long. She tried to turn around slowly, realizing only too late how little good it would have done. Her breath caught in her throat and she tried not to make a sound. She just listened.

And there it was again.

She could still hear water … but it was something else. There was something clicking in the darkness. Her eyes were wide, but it did little good. And then it moved. She could almost trace it in the black. It was scraping along, scuffing the slick and dirty stone beneath. It wasn't that far away.

She climbed slowly back to her feet, every muscle in her body trembling. She tried to stay perfectly still, but it did little good. She was shaking. This was far worse than being beaten, or stabbed at, or even having a demon just waiting to pop out of her and start killing everyone in sight. No … there was something out there in darkness … that impossibly empty void … and it was very … VERY … close.

She tried to back up … but there was nowhere to go. The thing moved over to one side of her. And then she heard something else from the other side. She gasped as her head suddenly twisted back. Could it move that fast? _Oh gods no …_ But it hadn't. She suddenly heard something else back where the first had been just at the same time. There were two.

She kept backing up … for whatever little good it would do. It hardly mattered. And suddenly she heard another … or maybe it was two … She couldn't tell anymore. They were all around her … circling … getting closer. She was shaking uncontrollably.

There had been a time once … she remembered suddenly then … memory flashed angrily before her eyes. She had been standing high on the ramparts back in Candlekeep … staring down into the Sea of Swords far below. It had been dark, and storming. The waters had raged down there below. She had wanted to jump … she had wanted to just _end_ it all … But Gorion had found her … he had taken her back. Somehow, she knew … if she had fallen down there … beneath the waters … it would have been as dark and terrible as it was now. She could feel the sharks closing in.

There was a soft hissing … it was far too close, and she sucked in sharply at the sound. But then her back struck up abruptly against the wall. There was nowhere left to go …

Her eyes widened then, but she realized quickly just what it was. It wasn't the wall jutting out into her back. And when she spun around, her hands fumbled out for that thing behind her. She felt cold, damp steel.

She couldn't see it … but she could hope. It was such a terribly out of place feeling down there in that black pit. But then her hands were moving numbly to take what she could not have dared to think were metal rungs. She started pulling herself up.

_A ladder! Oh dear, sweet Oghma, a LADDER!_

Of _course_ there would have been a ladder there. How else would someone have gotten down there? Well … the same way she had. But how would they have gotten back _up_? She was in hysterics, she knew. But just then … it didn't matter anymore.

The clicking was all around her, and so was the hissing. She was still shaking violently as she forced her hands to pull her dead weight up and up into the dark. That hole would be there … somehow, she knew it would be.

Something caught her leg. For a moment, she cried out in terror and surprise. It tried to snatch her back down. But then she was kicking it, hammering her boot down into the blackness. It struck something soft … and then it let her go, whatever it was. She hardly wasted a moment.

A hand reached out, grasping the next bar above her. She started to pull once more, not daring to think. But then the hissing was back, almost in her ear. It snatched at her leg again. And this time … it brought friends.

Her whole body lurched downward abruptly, and she screamed. Her jaw struck metal rung swiftly, though, and she nearly bit off the end of her tongue. She smattered blood. But somehow … she kept her grip on the ladder.

She hung there, one leg straining as something tugged it forcibly down into the blackness. But she hardly needed that terrible feeling to tell her just what would be waiting down there for her if she fell. She slipped one arm up and hooked it around metal. The thing snatched her other boot free, and then she was floating in the dark.

The hissing was too close. She could feel her one arm start to break as the void tried to suck her back down. She cried out as she felt something snap into the flesh of her leg. She tried to kick … and then the ladder shook. That thing was on it too.

Scrabbling with her free hand, she managed to latch onto the rung above her. She started pulling as hard as she could. Something bit into her below. And then she could feel both of her feet start to go numb. She tried to kick, and suddenly she was free once more. She nearly fell back down in surprise.

She took the next rung, and the next, and the next, dragging herself up. Her feet were flailing, stiffening up even as she desperately tried to climb with only her arms. She couldn't even tell if anything was still snatching at them. But then her head bumped up against steel.

All of the breath tore out of her for a moment in surprise … she had reached the top … she almost couldn't believe it … But then she was quickly pushing her free hand up into slimy metal.

She tried to force the thing from the hole, desperate for the dim light waiting above. But she wasn't strong enough. Her legs flailed out beneath her … she couldn't even feel them anymore. The numbness had reached her waist, but she tried to force her feet back onto the rungs anyways. She wasn't sure if she succeeded or not … but when she tried to let go to use both her hands to push, she fell. She only just caught herself from tumbling back down into the blackness below.

Tears leapt into her eyes anew then. She tried to bite them back, but it was no use. She freed one hand, hooking the other around the rung in front of her, and started slamming a fist into the metal. Again and again – she cried out as loudly as she could … she thought she heard bone crunch. She didn't feel it. She didn't feel any of it. She started to scream. The sound was hoarse.

And then that thing was back – the hissing – and clawing at her legs. She couldn't feel it. She had started to go numb all over. All she could feel was the sudden violent tugging at her, sucking her back down into the dark. Her eyes flashed downward beneath her, going wide for what little use they were then. She thought she saw something glint back up at her … cold and black. It pulled at her hungrily once more.

She slammed her fist into the metal again … once … twice … and then she slipped. Her arm nearly wrenched out of its socket. She couldn't feel her lower half at all. Her voice croaked, and her eyes squeezed shut.

She couldn't feel her hand anymore. Her arm went numb. She started to slip, sliding down into the blackness. She kept her eyes shut, blind and numb. She wouldn't feel it. She wouldn't see it. For some reason, she thought that might make it easier.

But then something snatched her back.

She was suddenly being pulled in two directions at once then … she could almost feel it. After a moment, she opened her eyes … and there was dim light spilling down all around her. She was looking down … she caught one brief glimpse of those toothy, hissing maws in soft, bulbous faces … they were everywhere below. Tentacles wrapped tightly about what she realized where her own legs … and then it was gone. It was all gone. She was being pulled up into the light.

For the life of her, she tried not to scream. But it was hard. It was so hard.

She was still crying.


	51. Chapter 5 Ghosts

_**Ghosts**_

The night was still thick about the alleyway above, but that faint starlight seemed as bright as day next to the black void that had just spit her back out. Evelyn was laying there on the dirty cobbles, forcing air steadily back into her frozen lungs. The hissing threatened to follow her up.

She was vaguely aware of someone moving beyond her, and then metal scraping a moment later. The hissing stopped, silenced abruptly, and she felt her heart suddenly unclench. She didn't move. She almost didn't care. Her whole body was numb.

That someone was kneeling over her then, looking down to where she lay curled up against the stone. She tried to look back up at whoever it was, but her eyes were still blurring with tears and blood both. And she didn't have the strength to wipe them away. She didn't have the _will _to wipe them away.

But then the other spoke.

"Your luck has not improved by much."

The voice was familiar … she almost recognized it. But she couldn't see his face. She was vaguely aware of tears still leaking from the sides of her eyes. Eventually, she just closed them. Whatever he might do to her, it could not have been worse than what had awaited her below.

"The paralysis will pass," he was telling her quietly, but she still didn't look at him. She just lay there willing strength back into her frozen body. "It was not meant to last. You should have been half-eaten by now."

She might have almost laughed at that. Gods knew she tried. It was hardly comforting, though he seemed to think it might be, whoever he was. But she was spared any further clumsy attempts at consolation at least. And it was over, for the moment. That was enough for her. The other was silent.

After a few minutes of quiet, some feeling had begun to return to her. She had enough strength and will to move her head at least. And a palm swiped clumsily at the mess drenching her face. She was dimly aware of hands turning her over, and then she was looking up into his face. Her eyes widened with a surprise that seemed redundant given the horrors that night had already visited upon her. Still … they did.

"Kivan?"

She tried to blink away the sight of him … but he stayed. And then she tried to lift herself up, but there was only so much her muscles would do just then. She slipped back down to the stone, wincing. He merely watched.

"Evelyn."

The Elf's voice was hard … cold. She stared up at him, still disbelieving. Finally, though, she managed to find some more words to speak.

"What are you doing here?"

It was impossible to believe. She kept trying to blink him away. But he was there. He was there … and somehow he had been the one to save her. Her face suddenly twisted.

"What in the _Hells_ are you doing here?"

He did not answer her. He had not. He merely sat there … staring down at her, his face like chiseled stone. And at that she felt anger start scorching up her insides like a furnace. It burned everything else away to ash.

She forgot about the two men – one of them dead – kidnapping and trying to interrogate her. She forgot about waking up in a back alley and then being thrown down into a sewer. She forgot about nearly being … being eaten alive! She even forgot about Xan … She just fixed on that impossible sight before her, her eyes suddenly like daggers of fire and ice. She didn't need a demon inside of her to want to kill him just then.

The ranger kept quiet, though. Her eyes kept boring into him expectantly, waiting for some kind of explanation even though she knew there could not have been one good enough to save him. Still, she gave him the chance. But he seemed for all the world as if it didn't matter just then. He just kept staring down at her, those dark brown eyes unreadable.

She tried to flex her hand, the one she had been bashing into that metal lid. Strangely enough, it wasn't broken, though her fingers were more than a little sore and bleeding. She got a good look at her legs too … those leggings had been torn in more than a few places. There was blood there too.

She was a mess. She was a pitiful and wretched mess. But that hardly stopped her from snatching the front of the Elf's tunic up in her good hand. She seemed to find some of her strength just then.

"Can you walk?" he asked suddenly before she could even open her mouth. She merely cocked her head angrily to one side. She said nothing.

Without another word, he was taking her by the arms and pulling her back to her feet. She swayed there for a moment, her legs still numb. But he caught her. She only glared up at him there as she hung there in his grip.

"What are you doing here, Kivan?"

He searched her eyes for a few moments, his own still hard as tempered steel. And they cut almost as deep. But then he opened his mouth to speak once more.

"Had I known this city plagued with carrion beasts in its sewers I might have pulled you out sooner. For that … I am sorry."

She shook her head. Carrion beasts? Was that what they were? But she was hardly dead … at least, she liked to think so. And he was sorry … for _that_? She hardly took the edge off her voice.

"How did you get here?" she pressed, her tone dark and low. "How did you find me?" But it seemed to affect him little. He brushed her anger aside as if it were nothing.

"If you think you hide your tracks well …" he trailed off, but she gave him a cross look. He just smiled grimly down at her in turn. "I was not looking for you, Evelyn. But it is my misfortune that you are just what I happened to find."

He let her go then abruptly, and she gasped in surprise. But her feet seemed steady enough in that moment. He shook his head.

"Half the world and you are _still_ all that I find." He frowned at that. But then it was gone.

"Go back to your inn, Evelyn," he told her then, "and go back to sleep. You have troubled yourself enough for one night." He turned quickly away.

"What?" She stiffened suddenly, taken aback. But then she was snatching at his arm, pulling him back toward her. "You … you can't just … just …!"

Her eyes shook, and so did she. And her grip tightened vengefully upon his sleeve. But he just grunted. He tugged his arm roughly free. And she snatched it right back.

He growled down at her.

"I _don't _have time for this. I have already wasted far too much in coming back for you. Those two might very well have escaped by now."

Her head twisted back in disbelief.

"What …?"

_Wasted _time_?_ So he had known she was down there all along? And he had just … just _left_ her down there with those … THINGS …?

She could almost _feel_ those tentacles snatching at her legs once more, seeping into her flesh, and threatening to tear her back down. Her eyes squeezed shut abruptly, and she had to force the thought bodily out of her skull. But then they snapped right back open. They narrowed quickly on _him_.

If she had thought her anger scorching hot before … oh-h-h, it suddenly blazed _ten_fold … It was a wonder that the other wasn't reduced to blistering ash right there at her feet. But the thought of it suddenly soothed her somewhat. It was enough to spare him … for the moment, at least.

"I tracked the two to their lair here in the city," he was telling her. "It is not far. But I must return there before it is too late. They must be dealt with." His head cocked to one side, and his eyes narrowed. "_Permanently_ this time."

He pulled himself free of her once more, taking a step back before she could grab him again.

"Go home, Evelyn," he told her firmly, his eyes hard. "I should never have allowed you to convince me to bring you so far in the first place. But it is too late now. Just," he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, "go home."

He stared at her for a moment longer, waiting for her to speak. But all she could do was stare … stare – wide-eyed, and disbelieving. It was almost too much.

But the ranger just canted his head sharply, satisfied. And then he turned back toward the street. He did not let her stop him this time.

She watched as he strode swiftly away … suddenly shaking all over anew. But it wasn't from fear or grief or hopelessness just then. It was for _that_. It was for him abandoning her there in the bandit camp after they had come so far … after they had made a _promise_ to find their vengeance together. It was for not keeping that promise … But most of all … it was for that sight of his back turning on her, and leaving her behind without a care … as if she were _nothing_ …

She suddenly heard her knuckles crack.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight. It didn't help very much.

She sighed - _growled_.

And then she started after him, not knowing whether she would just kill him or not. She supposed … it didn't really matter. But he wasn't going to get away that easily … again.

She had made a promise. And she intended to keep it.

* * *

"Kivan!"

Evelyn hissed at the Elf's back, but he did not slow. The ranger kept that same brisk pace as he made his way swiftly along the early morning streets of Baldur's Gate; the sun had yet to peek over the tall, slate-roofed buildings and the crenellated walls around the city. He did not slow, and he kept his back to her. Gods, but it was growing infuriating!

"… Kivan!"

He was ignoring her. He had tried to _lose_ her in the sparse crowds and winding paths and alleyways often enough. As it was, she had somehow found herself on the northeast side of the city, not quite sure just where they were exactly but not daring to let the man out of her sight again either. Not until she had made him listen to her at least. But he was doing _everything_ shy of throwing her back down a hole to keep from doing just that.

Someone bumped into her, nearly knocking her over. She didn't quite see who it was, muttering a quick apology before bowling _him_ over and hurrying on. But then Kivan was gone.

She stood there in the middle of the street, casting about wildly. There were few enough people out yet, and it wouldn't have been hard to see a wandering Elf besides, but–

THERE!

A small space between two brick building – she leapt toward it instantly. She thought she saw something moving there for just a moment. And then she was standing before it, squinting away into the dark. There was someone at the other end, she could just barely make him out. And then he vanished around a corner.

_Burning BOOKS!_

She stomped a foot angrily into the ground, wincing and crying out as pain suddenly shot through her leg and she nearly fell. She growled loudly instead, limping onward.

She was darting down the alleyway then, stumbling hastily along in the dark. She reached the opposite end quickly enough, though, but the Elf was already almost gone. He didn't look at her or even pause as she came up fast trailing far behind. For a moment, she just fumed there in one place.

This was getting her nowhere! Gods, but he was acting like a … like a _child_! She supposed she could understand just why he might be doing it, and there was the brief thought that maybe she didn't have much of a reason to give him so much trouble, but … oh-yes-she-DID! After what he had done … that thought suddenly flew right out of her head as the bandit camp abruptly flashed before her eyes. And when she came back … Kivan was almost back out on the street and away.

She panicked for a moment, boiling over and bristling all at once. Casting down toward the ground, her hand almost lashed out of its own volition, snatching up a rock from somewhere there amidst the refuse. She hefted it in her hand … and then sent it flying.

The stone sailed through the air … and struck the Elf abruptly on the back of the skull. He collapsed down to the cobbles without a sound.

She hardly wasted an instant, only bouncing restlessly for one moment before hurrying quickly on to close the distance between them. She came up on him swiftly, moving around until she stood at his head. He grunted, and then barked something harshly in Elvish. He looked up at her, baring her teeth.

He was suddenly ranting at her there from where he lay upon the ground, but she understood not a word of it. He had not thought to switch back to the common tongue. It sounded angry, though. She was just going to have to learn Elvish someday.

"If you think I'm going to let you leave … just like _that_," she stabbed a vengeful finger down at him, "then you are gravely mistaken, Kivan." Her voice was cold as ice and hard as steel. But so were his eyes. After another moment, he stopped muttering and climbed to his feet.

Without a word, he tried to push his way past her. But she moved with him, blocking his path. And then he started moving the other way. But she was there in front of him again before he could reach the street. Finally, he just growled deep in his throat, leveling his eyes heavily back down on her. She held her ground.

"I have had enough of your _games_, Evelyn!" he snapped at her then. "If you do not _move_, then I will be forced to do something we will _both_ regret." His gloved hands twitched suddenly, and the threat in his words was obvious enough. But she was hardly about to be frightened away by _him_ …

She stared him down … and eventually he grew tired of it. He shook his head irritably and then tried to walk right over her. But she snatched one of his hands in hers, wrenching it quickly away to one side. He cried out in surprise, twisting instantly against it. And then she shoved a boot into his stomach.

The blow wasn't hard, but it was enough. He stumbled back and away, and she started slowly after him. He recovered quickly, though, his breath seething in his chest where he hunched over. Those eyes were blazing as they fixed up on her once more.

Without another word, only a wordless howl, he rushed her. Her eyes went wide in surprise. But then she was suddenly throwing herself back over and away, hands to the ground and flipping over her back until she was standing half a dozen paces beyond his reach. The fist he had swung at her hit nothing but air … But that hardly stopped him from lunging at her once more.

She was ready for him this time. Ducking easily beneath the blow, she just narrowly missed another as it came hurtling toward her side. And then she had his wrist in one hand. She swiftly twisted it forward and back behind him. She forced him down to his knees.

"_Kessuk_ _BIIR!_"

He started barking up a long string of what she knew must have been Elvish curses. Unfortunately for him … she still didn't understand a thing he was saying. She just let it all fly past her without a word, finally wrenching his hand just a little more and squeezing out a sharp cry. But that only seemed to make him all the angrier. He was hissing back at her almost at once. She sighed … and then twisted again.

Eventually he seemed to wear himself out just a little.

"What do you want, Evelyn?!" he demanded angrily from where she had him pressed against the cobbles. "Have you come for my gratitude again? Should I _thank_ you for saving my life?" He tried briefly to shake her free. "Or shall you just call me a _coward_ and try to tell me how I should mete out my vengeance and accept my fate? Yes? Because I am listening NOW!"

She frowned down at him, feeling him tremble there in her grip. Some of the anger had bled out of her at finally capturing him … but she still narrowed her eyes all the same. Next to his voice, though, hers was dangerously calm.

"I was just trying to help you, Kivan. And I think I was right … since you haven't taken your own life yet it seems to me."

"Do not _lecture_ me anymore," he spat back, trying to twist his head around to face her. He fell a little short. "You do not even understand how much of a _child_ you really are … I should have left you to _die_ that day I found you. It was the second worst mistake of my life!"

She released him suddenly then, forcing him roughly forward. He seemed surprised, but that didn't stop him from leaping back quickly to his feet. She didn't move. She just kept her pained and blazing eyes fixed on him as he rounded back on her.

"What was the first?" she asked simply, cocking her head sharply to one side. Somehow, she was growing tired of everyone calling her a child …

But the other merely shrugged his shoulders, flexing his hand before dusting himself impatiently off.

"I think you know," was all he said, spitting out the words at her feet. And then he started to move away once more.

"Kivan!" she called after him … and he stopped. But he did not turn back.

She wrestled with her anger there for a moment, feeling herself shaking all over. Her blood still pumped violently in her veins, screaming as it always seemed to when anyone got too close. And it sensed the hate for that one before her then. But she pushed it roughly aside. Her voice was steady.

"Why did you leave?"

The words were quiet … impossibly so. But the cold loathing was undeniably thick. He stood there for a moment, silent and still. And then he turned his head to one side.

"Because, Evelyn …"

He trailed off for a moment, twisting his head away. The way his lips twitched then was far angrier and more full of hate than she could ever possibly have realized. He stiffened suddenly where he stood.

"Because I never should have been there in the first place."

He didn't look at her. He didn't bother to turn back around to give her an answer to her face. And, after another moment, he was striding quickly away once more. She did not hesitate before following behind.

He did not try to avoid her this time. He just made his way along the streets as if he didn't know she was there. That suited her just fine. For the moment they both trudged along with more hate and anger for the other than any mere words could have ever fully realized, she knew. She didn't know what reason he could have possibly had to be so angry with _her_, though. And that only stoked the fires once more. But she refrained from rushing him from behind and striking him all over anew. As good as it might have made her feel, it had done little other good. That silence suited her then just fine.

At some point, she came up at his side, but he ignored her. They moved further north into the city. But it didn't take long for that silence to grow more than a little oppressive.

"Where are we going?" she ventured soon after, keeping her tone in check as much as she could. The streets had begun to fill up, and there was just the hint of light spilling over the walls of the city to the buildings crowding above. It really was a beautiful place, she thought suddenly. But the ranger only gave her an irritated look. No doubt he did not think much of the 'we'.

"I told you already," he muttered simply. He twisted his eyes back away. She couldn't remember, but she didn't risk speaking to him again for a while after that. She knew she would find out soon enough. She could wait.

It wasn't long before she had become completely lost. They were somewhere on the north side of the city, and she was sure she had smelled better places in her lifetime. Many of the people around them had begun to look somewhat the worse for wear, and she wasn't even sure if they slept elsewhere than where they lay as the two strode by. But then the Elf had stopped.

He pulled her back against the side of a rundown building of a sudden, and at her vehement cry of protest he gave her a fierce, warning look. She snapped her mouth back quickly shut. And then he glanced around into the dirty avenue beyond.

A few moments later and he was fixing his eyes back on hers once more with another admonishing look. She narrowed her own right back at him. But then he was quickly and quietly slipping down that path away from the streets. Still mad, but more than a little curious, she followed without a word.

It was a grimy and soiled place, but she said nothing. She just tried to pick her way as carefully through the garbage as she could. There was still one place that she could think of that was far worse. Kivan slid in swiftly toward the side of another small building wedged in there between the others. There was an old wooden door sticking out of it.

"Keep quiet," he warned her. She tried to glance past him, but there were no windows to see into. That did not stop her from nudging him, though.

"What are we going to do?"

He let out an irritated sigh, muttering something under his breath. Then he flashed her a dark look. "You should not even be here." Shaking his head, he reached a hand toward the latch on the door. He snatched one of hers up firmly in the other. "Follow me and do not make a sound."

The door opened, starting to creak. But then the ranger abruptly swung it inward all the way, the sudden motion nearly making her jump. He caught it just before it slammed back on its hinges, whining faintly. He had a short, slender blade in hand.

The space within was dark, but even in that gloom Evelyn could see that it was cluttered. The ranger moved a short ways in, careful not to touch anything inside. Evelyn did the same, following gently on his heels. After a moment, she slid the Kara-Turian blade free as quietly as she could from its sheath.

She started wondering instantly just what they were doing there … or what they would find. Something dangerous, she supposed as she thought about the steel in the other's hand. Or maybe he had just lured her there to finally do something more drastic in making sure that she couldn't follow him later. She wouldn't have put it past him … after some of the things that he had done. She still felt sore from earlier, and bruised all over … but not afraid. And certainly not of _him,_ no matter what he might have thought to do. After the sewer, she didn't think there was any fear _left_ in her to squeeze out so soon. But that didn't stop her from clutching the curved blade in her hand tight. She would be ready.

Kivan stopped, and then turned his head to one side. She glanced around … but he wasn't looking at anything. He was listening.

"Upstairs," he breathed then after a moment. He didn't wait for her to respond. He just started quickly across the dark room, somehow managing to avoid anything underfoot. She was hardly so lucky.

She stumbled once or twice, not seeing what she tripped over. But the Elf spared her any warning looks – fortunately for him – only trailing her along quickly in his wake. Instead he made for the landing, and then flew lightly up each of the steps with barely a sound. He pulled her behind the whole way … somewhat _less_ quickly and quietly.

They were moving slowly around another dark room, and she was getting more than a little nervous. There were windows on one side of the wall, but they were bolted tight and covered over with wood. The gloom seemed hardly to daunt the Elf, however, and soon he was standing before a hallway, blade beside him. She didn't dare say anything as he pulled her even deeper.

He paused after a few moments, though, listening again she was sure. She briefly wondered if he somehow meant to kill her … there, where no one would see or be the wiser. The shadows did not bother him so much as her … and it would have made her a far easier target, besides. But even she heard it then – someone was breathing haggardly somewhere ahead in the darkness. The ranger didn't say anything more before continuing on.

And then a door was in front of them. The Elf stopped, pressing one pointed ear to the wood. Whatever he heard on the other side, though, it did not bode well. He rounded on her briefly.

"Stay here." He barely more than mouthed the words. She nodded her head quickly after a moment, only realizing then just how perfect a trap it would have been for something to have been waiting to leap at her from behind that door. She took a step back, and he a step forward … and then the door flung open.

There was a gasp somewhere inside the room beyond, and the Elf quickly vanished into the dark. Evelyn just waited anxiously, blade in hand, and starting to realize just how much like the dark sewer that dank place really was. If someone _had_ been waiting for her somewhere in those shadows … just ready to pounce … How did _she _know just what the ranger could have done in that city all this time? She stiffened at the first dozen images that ran through her mind, thoroughly fueled by enough bad memories in recent days and clutching her blade all the tighter. But she didn't have to think about it long.

The ranger abruptly burst back out into view – the only warning she had was the shape that nearly barreled into her. She leapt back a step, gasping, but it only came up short, glancing toward her.

"They are not here," she heard his familiar voice. "Back outside … quickly!" He was carrying something big.

She only hesitated a moment, bouncing fretfully where she stood … And then she was flying back down the stairs, hardly caring to take her time or soften her steps as she pounded back down toward the floor below and out the door into the street. The ranger followed swiftly on her heels. And then they were both standing in the dirty alley once more. Without another word, he started away.

It was only _after_ they had rounded a corner … and another … and were suddenly ducking into another alley, that she abruptly realized just what he was carrying in his arms. As he knelt down, leaning the haggard-looking man back against the stone wall of another building, she felt her eyes go wide in surprise for hardly the first time that night.

"C … Coran?"

One of the man's eyes fluttered open. The other was swollen shut.

"Sweetling?" he breathed in surprise, still straining. She thought he might have laughed just then, but all that came out was a hoarse wheeze. "Promise me that you will never go to the Blushing Mermaid … I hate to think what their service might do to you …"

"You know this man?" The ranger was rounding on her, his dark eyes fierce. She only nodded, taking her own briefly from where they had rested on the broken Elf. He was bleeding from no few places and it seemed like nothing else so much as that he had been beaten over and over with a club across the face.

"What happened?"

Coran coughed, blood staining his teeth as he grinned. "As muddled as I was, sweetling, and thinking the maid an easy catch, I didn't see that … _bastard_ Halfling taking my legs out from under me." He shook his head slowly, and she glanced away thoughtfully for a moment. But he was hacking suddenly, more blood spat up into his hand. "I suppose she didn't wait up for me …"

She studied him with a worried look for a moment more, but then she turned toward Kivan. The Elf was frowning down at the other.

"How did you know he was in there?"

She was glaring at him angrily anew, and moved a step between him and the other Elf. For all she knew, the ranger had put him there himself and beaten him senseless. As dark as it was, Coran might not have recognized his captor … maybe he had even been wearing a mask … she didn't know. She couldn't. But she did still have the Kara-Turian blade in hand. She clutched it all the tighter as she faced the other.

But the ranger just shook his head.

"I didn't," he told her quickly. "I had no time to look before coming back for you … And now they are gone." The last he muttered to himself, but loudly enough for her to hear. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I have been watching you and the half-breed ever since you entered this city," he broke in irritably before she could speak. "And I was _not_ the only one. That Ogre on the bridge drew more attention than you realize."

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wondering … but no. She leveled him with an icy glare instead. As if _she_ had had anything to do with putting an _Ogre_ on the bridge. He was just playing with her … grasping at straws …

"The mad wizard and the dead Halfling were but two of those I noticed watching you while_ I_ kept an eye on you as well," the ranger continued. "That wizard in red robes was not far away as well, though he was less clever in keeping his distance. There are others, I am certain of it."

But she just gave him a dubious look. He had been watching them? And somehow that made him any different than the two who had tried to kidnap her? She supposed he _had_ been the one to rescue her. But he had certainly taken his time about it. How was _she_ supposed to know that _he_ hadn't known that those beasts were there all along? He could've just been _waiting_ until they had eaten her … he could have been doing a good many things. And she could only guess …

"They were Zhentarim, sweetling," Coran spoke up suddenly. She rounded back on him instantly. "They knew that I had come here with you," he continued after a moment. "And they were _very_ interested in just why we were here and what we had to do with the Iron Throne." He managed to keep his voice steady despite his rattling chest and the crimson mess that dripped down from his lips to the front of his tunic. He was almost deathly serious of a sudden. "I got the distinct impression that they had been following you for some time."

"What?" she demanded incredulously. But the other only took a trembling breath before fixing his misty blue eyes on her once more.

"They knew little of me, but spoke much of where you had apparently been before the Cloakwood. They thought I might have known something of it." He shook his head at her quickly. "Don't give me that look, sweetling … they didn't torture me long enough to learn anything. I have suffered _far_, far worse. Some women have the most peculiar tastes, I assure you …"

"Zhentarim …"

Evelyn looked sharply toward the ranger as he suddenly drew back. But his face was hard and set. His eyes flashed briefly toward hers.

"You have as many enemies as ever," he muttered bitterly. And then he was turning away. "I suggest you return to your inn and leave this city … quickly. Whatever business you had here, it could not be worth your life."

He barely gave her another look before starting back out toward the street. And her anger flared up abruptly once more at that sight. She snatched at his arm again, pulling him quickly back. Her eyes bore intently up into his.

"You know what I'm here to do, Kivan." She spoke softly, the words untinged with any of the venom she felt. No matter what he might have thought of her, that was still the same. "It never changed."

He gave her another unreadable look, his face as still as stone. But his eyes were another matter. She tried searching them, briefly … but there was too much there for her to understand just then. He pulled away.

He stepped out into the street … and for a moment, she just stared. All of her anger and loathing suddenly threatened to lash out violently at his back once more, but … something pulled it back. There was the brief thought in her head that it might have been something she had seen in his eyes just a moment ago … for a moment, that hate had cracked. It had not mirrored her own … But then she was suddenly moving.

"Kivan, wait!" She leapt around him before he could go more than two steps, blocking him from the street. He came up short and narrowed his eyes irritably down at her.

"We will not start this again, will we?"

But she just pursed her lips back at him. _She_ had not been the one with her face pressed firmly into the ground. _She_ had not been the one running away from her as if he knew anything of just how terrible she truly was. But she tried to force that all aside for a moment. She forced herself to just look into his eyes instead. She searched them once more … but they had hardened. Whatever she had seen there … he had buried it deep behind another wall. She could not have hoped to crack it again so soon.

After a moment, she sighed.

"The Iron Throne is behind this," she told him then. The Kara-Turian blade slid suddenly back into its sheath at her side. Her lips twitched, but she had buried her anger deep as well. She glanced back up at him.

"They were behind _all_ of it … Nashkel, the bandit camp … even," she swallowed quickly, but it mattered little, she realized suddenly. She cleared her throat, raising her chin.

"Even Tazok," she finished at the last, fixing him once again. And then she waited. But there was no surprise in his eyes strangely enough.

"I know."

Her mouth fell open of a sudden … but she quickly snapped it back shut. She frowned at him then instead, her brow furrowing deeply.

"How?"

But the other only grunted.

"Evelyn," her name fell free almost wearily from his lips, "I have hunted the beast's name on the severed tongues of every now-dead bandit from here back to the Wood of Sharp Teeth." He began shaking his head slowly. "The Iron Throne was eventually what I found. And I have been trying to find a way to strike at that monster ever since. He is here … somewhere in this city. I know it. I know it all too well."

She stared at him for a moment. And then her eyes fell away. A dozen thoughts went screaming through her head of a sudden … but only the one did she latch onto. She fixed back up on him instantly.

"Then you … you can come with us, Kivan," she told him quickly, all doubt fleeing swiftly from mind as she started to believe him then. "You can help us …"

And then the words were suddenly tumbling forth excitedly from her lips.

"We're going to find a way inside – we know someone who can help! I know who killed Gorion – his father is the one who leads the Iron Throne here in the city. And Tazok was following his orders all along!"

Both of her hands were on his arms – she was all but bouncing restlessly where she stood. For a moment, hope lit her mind anew where it had died so long ago. Kivan had wanted vengeance as much as she all along … he was the only one who understood just what she would do … just what it would cost her in the end. There would be nothing to follow. That deed would be her last – _his_ last. And they would do it together … just as they had promised to begin with. They would _both_ take their vengeance together …

Had the thoughts in her head been of anything other than just what they were, she was sure she would have been grinning up at him like a fool. But she quickly got a hold of herself, realizing just what she was doing. She released him, and stilled herself swiftly once more. But her eyes were no less intent as they bore into him then.

"We can still have your revenge, Kivan," she continued more calmly after a moment. "Our revenge. I promised you that we would. Tazok will be there with Sarevok Anchev – I know he will. We will have it … just like I promised."

She waited for him to say something, searching his eyes quickly for any sign of just what it would be. She had forgotten Coran. She had forgotten the ranger running away from her before. For a moment … she had even forgotten just how he had abandoned her back at the bandit camp and tried to again. But he had just stood there the whole while, his brown eyes hard and steady as they watched her. They did not waver.

"This is not your fight anymore, Evelyn," he told her quietly. He reached one gloved hand out gently to her shoulder. "Go home." The look he gave her was almost sad.

"Kivan, we can–"

"_No_, Evelyn," he cut her off sharply. His grip upon her tightened, and she suddenly felt a little of the fire go out of her. He shook his head slowly. There was no mistaking the sadness then. "Just … just go home."

Her face started to fall – she could feel it. It froze in that same eager expression, and, for the longest time, she just refused to believe it. But his eyes did not lie. They fixed on her with that same pitiful bleakness, seeming suddenly so very sorry for her. She didn't know what he could possibly feel sorry for her about, though. But that hardly seemed to matter to _him_.

"But I," her lips trembled as she struggled with the impossible weight of that look he was giving her. "But I promised …," she finally managed. She felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes. She didn't know what else to say.

He took his hand back.

"Tazok is mine, Evelyn." His voice was hard of a sudden, and that grip was painful. "This _hunt_ … is mine. I will not share it with anyone else. No one is taking it away from me."

He shook his head once more, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. And when they opened again … they were as cold as ever.

"You should never have come."

She stared at him. She just … stared. And he stared right back, waiting for her to say something more. But she didn't. She couldn't. There was nothing _to_ say. All she saw … was him leaving her behind once again … just like before. And she couldn't help but think that it was her fault – not his. She had broken that promise. She had made it and she had broken it. And nothing she told him she would do just then was going to change his mind. He had given up on her. He had turned his back because she had betrayed him.

It was suddenly so clear in that moment to her. Whatever was left of her anger bled away to nothing. He had not betrayed her … he had _never_ betrayed her. She had broken her promise and betrayed _him_. And she had lost his trust in that moment – in that one terrible moment. It was all her fault.

She was stepping back, her feet leaden beneath her as she moved out of his way. He studied her for a moment more, but did not hesitate before pushing past. She could hardly blame him.

"I doubt that we will meet again, Evelyn." He paused briefly after just a few steps, glancing back at her. She didn't look at him. "Even should you stay. Consider this the thanks for saving my life. But I will ask you never to do so again. There will not be another time."

And then without another word, he turned … and left. He couldn't have heard the sob that suddenly racked her chest as he did.

She stood there for a long while, not daring to even stare after him. She would have taken anything over seeing him walk away from her just then. For abandoning her just then. For leaving her behind … again. She would have rather the bulbous faces in the dark. She would have rather he had never come back at all. Maybe it would have been better that way. She probably deserved it at least. But, most of all, she deserved seeing his back for that briefest moment. It was all she had ever deserved from anyone …

She could not have helped her tears. But she forced herself to steady once more, with an effort. As much as she deserved to stand there broken and alone all day, she knew there was still one thing that she could do – that she _had _to do. It was the one thing that could make up for every bad thing she had ever done. It was the one thing that would make up for a broken promise … and so much more.

It took several long moments, but she managed to calm herself. She forced those thoughts back down – they hardly helped. There was still so much to do. And then it passed.

She stiffened as she turned back around. Coran had been watching in silence the whole time. Her face suddenly twisted with concern, wondering just how much he had understood. But, with his wounds, she realized suddenly, it might not have been much. Still, she supposed, it didn't really matter. She just pushed it all away.

She helped the battered Elf back to his feet, throwing one of his arms across her shoulders with a grunt. He gave her a pained smile, and she thought it was meant to be encouraging. For what, though, she did not know. She returned it as best she could. It wasn't so hard.

And then they started back toward the inn. Neither spoke a word the whole way. Somehow, she was thankful for that. And she could see in his eyes that he knew.

It was enough.


	52. Chapter 5 Shadows of the Day

_**Shadows of the Day**_

"Zhentarim? Here? Are you sure?"

The half-Elven woman paused briefly in her pacing across the room of the inn, and gave Evelyn a doubtful look. She, in turn, only glanced toward Coran. The Elf nodded his head slowly.

"I saw the emblem," he told her, nodding again. "I am sure of it."

"_Really_ …"

Jaheira took up step once more, continuing in her steady trek back and forth thoughtfully toward first one wall and then the next. Every so often she would cast her husband a brief glance where he sat upon their bed, quiet and still. But his eyes were like stone, and, as hard as she tried … Evelyn could not read them.

The two half-Elves were in little more than what they had worn to bed, Jaheira having donned a long tunic to keep her modesty before the two that had intruded in her room just moments after sunrise. Even in that, though, she had still managed to seem as if she might take the Elf's head off easily. Despite his thorough beatings, he had given her no few appreciative stares. Khalid had merely smiled slightly from where he remained upon their bed, receiving no few glares from his wife as well. Needless to say, Jaheira's ministrations towards the Elf had been somewhat less than gentle. Still, he looked far better now without so much of the bruising and swelling of earlier. But the blood remained.

"It is very _possible_," the druid began anew, pursing her lips as she strode, "that the two merely allowedyou to _see_ that emblem in order to cast even more suspicion on the Zhents. The good Commander did mention that enough blame had already been thrown upon them. It stands to reason that the Iron Throne could only benefit more from such a thing."

"Ah, but you forget, my little sylph …," Coran raised a finger. "They were just as interested in the Throne as all of you seem to be."

The older woman snorted. "We should be thankful then, that they did not think to take someone more clever or mindful of our intentions," she muttered loudly. And then she flashed the Elf another hard eye. "They could very well have been trying to discover all that we knew of the Iron Throne merely to assess how great of a threat we have become. They could very easily have been hired mercenaries, or even agents of the Throne."

But the other only shook his head.

"I do not think so," he told her. "Their manners hardly seemed to speak of gauging _our_ threat … and, given what little I _do_ know, it seems very much to me that you have already done enough to warrant death anyways. Why bother so vigorously torturing _me_?"

She didn't even look at him, though Evelyn hardly thought that she looked convinced. She just kept pacing, tapping a slender finger against her bottom lip. But after a few more moments of quiet, Coran sighed.

"Well," he cast her a bored and impatient glance, "I should ask then … Why let me see the emblem at all? Or _us_ for that matter …? Even if it were meant to be relayed to you … what difference would it make?"

The druid merely frowned. "Perhaps nothing. Perhaps _every_thing … We shall see."

She stopped, looking to her husband for several long moments. The man only returned her gaze, raising an eyebrow back at her. And then she turned on the other two.

"Whatever trouble these two might bring," she began carefully, "we can do nothing about it now, except be careful … and remain where we can be_ easily_ found."

She gave the Elf a pointed look, but Coran's lips only twitched upwards slightly in reply. He leaned back on his feet where he stood. She shook her head.

"I think it is time that we looked into these merchants that the_ good_ Commander spoke of and see just what we might find. But first," she waggled a finger at the Elf. "You will get some rest. We might actually _need_ your help at some point."

She smiled sweetly at him, to which he just grinned.

"I aim to please …"

"And you, Evelyn," she turned quickly toward the younger woman. "Get some sleep as well." She hardly made it sound like a suggestion. "Khalid and I will find these merchants and learn what we can on our own before getting too close," the other continued after a moment. "I would not put it past the guard commander to tell us less than he truly knows and shed few tears over our demise. We will take as few risks as possible."

She herded them toward the door, only the Elf finding some humor in it as the woman pushed them vigorously back out. Evelyn thought she saw him wink at the half-Elven man beyond. And then they were both outside and turning away.

Jaheira had a hand on her arm before she could leave, though, and was pulling her briefly back around. She lowered her voice so that no one else could hear.

"Evelyn." She glanced quickly toward the Elf, the man having rounded on them a few paces away. But he stayed where he was. Those dark eyes fixed back on Eve. They softened for a moment … just a moment. But then they were hard again.

"Whatever the Elf is doing here in this city," she began anew quickly, squeezing the younger woman's arm, "it is not our concern. Do not make it so. We can hardly hope to trust him as we might once have done. Do not forget that."

She waited, boring intently into the younger woman and staring her down. After a few moments, Evelyn nodded her head, but she said nothing. She had not told the other that she had met the two Zhents before, or that Kivan had killed one of them. She started to turn away.

"Do not forget," the other told her once more. And then she released her. The door closed behind them.

She stared at the wood for a few moments – stared through it. And then she looked away. The Elf was standing before her.

"Come, sweetling," he said, smiling down at her. And then he pushed her past him and away from the others' door. "I'll walk you back to your room." He grinned slightly back toward where Jaheira had vanished, shaking his head before taking Evelyn by the shoulder and leading her away. For her part, she hardly noticed until her own door had closed behind her once more.

As tired as she was, she had moved over to the lone bed inside the room and dropped herself down atop it without even a thought for the blood and muck still staining her clothes. Jaheira had offered to tend her wounds as well, but she had refused it soundly. She was more a mess than wounded, to be sure. And, besides, the wounds she needed healed just then were beyond the woman's powers to cure. Of that, she was sure.

She was tired, yes … but she did not sleep, not right away. Instead she just sat there, staring down at the floor … at nothing. And thinking. It was hard to banish the sight of Kivan's back from her mind just then. But … somehow … she thought that it might not be his leaving that she truly saw. There was something else … But then it was gone, and there was only the Elf turning his back. She had deserved it at least … of that, she was sure. Still … it was hard. It was so very hard …

It started to make her angry.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears threaten to well up in them again. She didn't need them now. She didn't need them _ever_. But they were angry, and vengeful, and …

"You should not frown so, sweetling."

Her eyes snapped back open … and she was staring up at the Elf. He was looking at her from across the room next to the door.

"You will leave marks in that pretty face."

But she only turned that scowl on him instead, her eyes glinting as they bored into his own. He still looked as haggard as she in those bloody and battered clothes, though he had hardly heeded Jaheira's words anymore than she had in returning to his room to get some rest. Somehow, he had not left, and she had not noticed. She waited.

He stood there quietly, though, a lop-sided grin on his face. It was not so amused as they had so often seemed to be. But that hardly eased her irritation anymore. He still wasn't leaving. Finally, she just spoke.

"What do you want?"

She nearly the spat the words at him, they were so full of acid. She might have even felt sorry for that … but she wanted to be alone. It was necessary too. She could have expected nothing less. Ajantis and Xan had both tried in vain to chase after her not a day after they had entered that city. She could only have suspected that Coran, of all people, would have soon followed suit. As cunning as he was … he was the biggest fool of the three. It should have been two … only two. But she was not disappointed.

The man barked a laugh, shaking his head. "I will resist the temptation for the moment, sweetling … though you do leave yourself wonderfully open to flirtation at times. I am beginning to think that you do it on purpose." He raised an eyebrow at her. But then he shook his head once more, slowly, and his face suddenly smoothed over.

"I forgive you your anger, Evelyn," he began anew then. "It is not for me. Though, I will admit … I have certainly done enough to deserve it."

She blinked at him, taken aback by the sound of her name on his lips. It seemed so suddenly alien, and she was sure that she had never heard him use it before. It was enough to hold her back … and he had moved himself over before she had a chance to recover. He sat down on the bed beside her.

She frowned over at him, wondering just what new game it was that he was playing with her. He had already tried so many … and it was disheartening enough that both Xan and Ajantis had tried their hands as well. But she suddenly couldn't feel angry at him anymore. She looked away. She was too tired to be angry. She was too sick, and too tired for any of it just then. But the other did not look at her for a long moment. Eventually, he sighed.

"I saw the look in your eyes in that alley," he began, staring off and away. "And I think I am beginning to understand …"

He eventually turned toward her, but she did not meet him. And he only smiled sadly down at her.

"You have been broken, Evelyn," he told her after another moment, "I can see that clearly enough. It is amazing and tragic that somehow you see fit to fight on. Perhaps a little frightening and terrible too …"

He slipped an arm around her shoulders, and she did look at him then. But that same rueful smile was on his lips. It was not a playful or romantic gesture. For a moment, he looked at her as Imoen did. As her best friend did. He squeezed her slightly, pursing his lips. And then he glanced briefly away.

"I have mistreated you," he continued, "though I think you hide yourself quite well. It is a shame. And for that," he looked back toward her, "I apologize. Though," and he suddenly grinned, "I cannot promise that it will not happen again. I think that would be the greater offense."

He smoothed over once more, nodding his head slightly. He left it at that.

She didn't say anything to him. She just tried to keep her face as smooth as his. It was strangely comforting … and she wasn't quite sure just what to make of that. It made for several long moments of silence, dragging away into the early morning. But then he abruptly pulled her closer, touching his lips to the shadowy tresses atop her head. For a moment, she did not think to stop him, and he lingered there, holding her tight.

"Do not think that you are alone in this," he whispered softly, shaking his head. "There are plenty among you that care enough to make an effort when it is needed. I'd like to think that I'd be just such a one. I know I am not the only one."

He slipped away and back onto his feet in the next moment, rounding back on her just as he made for the door. He seemed to struggle with whatever more words he would say just then. But it did not last long. She stared up at him.

"You are not alone, Evelyn," he repeated. He started to say something more, his face crinkling intently. But then he swallowed it. He canted his head. And then he turned to leave.

She watched the door close behind him.

The whole while she had sat, still … and silent. She had let his words wash over her, all the while keeping her face from betraying anything of just what she truly thought. It was a strange gesture, at least from him. It was just too bad that he was wrong … so very, very wrong. It almost made her sad. But she just swallowed it quickly down along with every else. It seemed to have gotten just a little easier of late.

She _was_ alone. She was alone in a way that he did not understand … and _would_ never understand, if he was lucky. None of them understood. She was beginning to see that all too clearly now. His words were nothing more than that – words. They were no better than Xan's. They were no better than Ajantis's. They were no better than Imoen's, or Jaheira's, or … or even Kivan's. They didn't make her _feel_ any better about any of it. But they could make her feel a whole lot worse. She was beginning to wonder why she listened at all. But it wasn't something worth thinking about. Thoughts could be just as misleading … and just as destructive. She let them all just slip away.

She didn't bother to undress herself. She didn't bother to clean whatever it was that stained her clothes off. All she did was strip off her lavender coat and curl herself firmly up against the bed beneath her.

As much as she tried to swallow it all down or just push it all away … it came back. It _always_ came back. She just hoped that it would all be over soon. She was so tired of thinking. She was so tired of _every_thing.

She waited. But it was a long time before sleep finally came.

Somehow, she deserved that too.

* * *

"Evelyn."

A hand fell down on her shoulder, and her eyes flashed upward. Two brown ones met her own briefly.

"Are you well, my Lady?" The knight studied her, his brow furrowing for a moment. But she only nodded her head. Now was not the time.

"I'll be fine."

She looked past the man toward the other end of the alleyway. There was a two-story stone building sandwiched there between granite slabs just on the opposite side of the street. Painted-glass windows lined its lower floor, shaded panes the upper. A large banner waved to one side of the double doors, stitched with a spinning crescent of golden orbs on a field of beige.

The Seven Suns.

Evelyn took a deep breath, fixing the building more firmly. She forced everything else from mind once more – those nightmares hardly wanted to go. But they would only slow her down. She knew that well enough. And then she was as hard as steel.

Ajantis seemed to think little of her answer, though he said nothing more. He just turned with her as well away toward the sight of the Seven Suns building beyond. She was only glad that he did.

It was quiet there … in the alley. Though it was certainly easy enough to hear the sounds of the midday crowds of Baldur's Gate parading through the streets beyond. It was dark too … dark enough to hide the six men and women crouching there in the stillness. No one passing by along the street had noticed them yet at least, though there were certainly no few pairs of eyes cast to either side of the alley as they waited. Just as many found their way back time and again to the Seven Suns. The silence had begun to grow deafening.

"What are you looking for?"

Sometime earlier, Jaheira had pulled her aside from the others, sparing no few glances toward that very same building as they had spoken quietly there in the shadows.

"Does it matter?" she had asked calmly enough, giving Evelyn a brief look. "Scar only wished us to see what we could find. Whatever we have to tell him – so long as it is _something_ – will be enough." She had raised an eyebrow at the younger woman. "We will find this Jhasso, learn what we can, and leave. I will not make it any more difficult than that."

She had rested her hands upon both of Evelyn's shoulders then, looking her intently in the eyes. She had told her to wait there with the others until she and Khalid had returned. But the warning had been clear enough. The younger woman had only nodded her head.

The two had returned to the Elfsong Tavern some time before, and the half-Elven woman had come swiftly to wake her. But she had not slept well at all, and it had been brief besides. It was too bad that they had not learned much, though … aside from just where one of those merchant costers was in the city. But that had hardly stopped them from continuing on there to see just what they would find inside. They had certainly not come alone.

Xan and Yeslick were the only two that had not come. The latter had not cared much for the idea of the whole thing, though no one had really asked him. He had pledged himself to help Evelyn kill Rieltar and his son … that was all. She wondered if Jaheira even remembered just who the stocky little man was or even that he had come with them. Xan had simply disappeared.

She didn't know where the Elf had gone to … and neither did anyone else. But they had hardly been paying much attention, and they had not bothered to look much yet besides. Evelyn had turned the druid's concerns aside quickly, when she had thought to wait and find him. She doubted that he had been taken as Coran had. She knew all too well where he had gone. And she knew all too well that it was better that way. She would let him go in peace.

"How long are they going to be in there?"

Her eyes flashed toward her best friend where she stood leaning against the side of a stone building to one side of them. She was gazing away toward the Seven Suns building far beyond. They had a clear view of the place from their hiding spot, but they had seen little since the half-Elven woman and her husband had disappeared inside. There were two guards standing just outside the doors, but they had seemed to give the two little enough trouble from what Evelyn had seen. Jaheira had thought it much safer with only the two of them.

Coran glanced back toward Imoen briefly. He merely rolled his eyes.

"It has only been a few minutes, sugarplum. Calm down."

And then he was turning back toward his vigil.

Imoen started muttering something about waiting there all day, but Evelyn looked back away. She caught sight of the Rashemi witch briefly as she did so. The dark-skinned woman's face was unreadable. Minsc towered beside her, fingering the large hilt jutting out from his back. Neither said a word. And it was just as well.

A few more minutes passed in quiet, the sounds of the city streets echoing dully off the stone walls of the alleyway about. As they did so, Evelyn could only begin to realize just how tedious of an affair that all might have seemed – just how dangerous could a building full of merchants really be? But she was in no mood to play games either. Jaheira, she was sure, had the right of it.

But Imoen, at least, was somewhat less convinced.

"What happens if they don't come out?"

She let the question hang in the dank air there for a moment, not directing it toward anyone in particular. But it was Coran who answered her once more. This time he did not even bother to turn around.

"We go in after them."

The curly-haired knight nodded simply down where he crouched beside Evelyn, and he spared her a look. But Evelyn wasn't looking at anything. She just kept staring ahead into the piles of refuse that littered the alleyway and through it. It was what they would do. Jaheira's warning had been simple enough.

Everyone else was watching the Seven Suns building then. Everyone except _her_ … and Dynaheir. She could feel the witch's dark eyes boring into her. She didn't have to look over to know it for truth. But, she supposed, she should have been paying more attention to what was going on around her anyways. She almost didn't notice it when the garbage ahead of her seemed to start breathing.

She stared for a moment, almost not seeing it. Her thoughts were still too thick and the shadows too dark to be sure, and she squinted there in the gloom. Perhaps she had been sitting there too long in the dark. Her eyes were starting to play tricks on her. They certainly hadn't noticed anything before …

But then she started to lean in just a little bit closer, frowning curiously. She didn't get far. For a moment … nothing moved.

And then the waste pile suddenly lashed out at her.

Evelyn cried out and fell back and down to the dirty stone beneath, her arms flung wide. Everyone came whipping back around and toward her in surprise, steel ringing loudly in the alley. Ajantis was already on his feet and so was Minsc. Coran had a dagger in his hand.

But Evelyn did not move. Instead she sat there staring at the thing stirring before her. She blinked.

That thing began to take shape all too readily, rolling slowly free of the refuse about it. There was a man lying there on the ground for a moment, writhing and groaning. But then Ajantis had his sword thrust down and was using it to roughly turn him over onto his back. Steel pressed firmly into the man's chest.

He lay there, breathing hard and looking up at them. And then all of the air suddenly seethed out of his lungs. He let his head fall back.

"So sorry …," he slurred up at them, looking hastily around, "I'm … afraid I didsn't … know this gutter was taken …"

He laughed a little at his own words. And then he stopped quickly. He swallowed hard, his tongue all but lolling out of his mouth. The knight's lips suddenly twisted.

Ajantis pulled his sword away, growling deep in his throat. "Public debauchery," he spat down at the man. He thrust the blade hard back down into its sheath. "Get yourself gone, drunken wretch!"

Everyone had been watching the man there on the ground, but had begun to turn away. A drunk lying in a gutter hardly seemed like something to worry about any longer. If nothing else, the knight and the Elf only seemed irritated at the false alarm. But Imoen was frowning at the drunken man in concern. Evelyn climbed quickly to her feet.

"Hey!" the pink-haired woman snatched suddenly at the knight's arm. "Leave him alone … He didn't do anything!"

"Yes … _Yes_!" the drunken man grunted, pulling himself bodily up from the ground. "Let me goes with my troubles … they are mine own – to drink away!" A long-necked bottle swirled emphatically in his hand.

The man climbed back up to his feet, staggering there where he stood. Ajantis bared his teeth irritably at the sight, starting to turn away. Imoen leaned back against the wall, all the while glaring at the knight. But Evelyn hadn't taken her eyes away from the drunken man.

He started to move away, inching along for a few leaden steps and looking as if he were trying to open his eyes as wide as they would go. He shook himself. And then he pulled the bottle toward his hanging lips. But Evelyn snatched at his arm before he could.

"Do I know you?"

She spun the man around to face her. It wasn't hard, but he nearly tumbled over with the effort. She squinted at him, her grip tight. Her other hand had already snaked its way toward the dagger at her belt. But the other only blinked at her.

"Do you … know me? Do you know _me_?" he demanded almost angrily of a sudden. "Do I knowsh … _you_ …!"

He thrust a vigorous finger at her and she blinked right back at him, not sure just what he meant by that. It really didn't sound like much of an answer. But he only fell to muttering, and then he tried to turn away. She snapped him right back around toward her.

Fuller's dagger tight in one hand, the drunken man's arm in the other, she looked him over carefully, trying to place his face. Ajantis had turned back toward them, and her best friend was giving them an odd look as well. But she was hardly about to take any chances. She didn't need any reminders to know just what strange places bounty hunters and assassins could suddenly spring out of … why not a pile of garbage? And if she thought she recognized that man, well … if he wasn't someone she already knew and maybe trusted, then it was very likely that he _wasn't _to be trusted. But then her eyes snapped wide.

"Aldeth …?" she breathed incredulously, and the man suddenly cast her a trembling eye. She shook her head in disbelief. "Aldeth _Sashenstar_?"

He was still wearing that gilded armor, soiled as it now was. She recognized it now. It seemed as if he had not yet taken the time to wash it. But it was him – she was sure of it. He gave her a dubious look.

"Do I knows you, m'dear?" He started shaking his head slowly, almost warily. "Not another wench … comes for money …" He nearly toppled over again with the effort. But she still held him firmly in her grasp. And she only frowned at the drunken man.

"What are you doing _here_?"

Aldeth Sashenstar gave her another doubtful look. And then his face suddenly twisted. "I …," he stabbed a thumb to his chest, "I live here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Live … here?" she raised an eyebrow at him. That alleyway? But then she remembered just what he had told them the last time they had seen him – in the Cloakwood. He had said something about a Merchants' League … about giving them help should they ever have need of it. She wasn't so sure about asking for his help – drunk as he seemed to be – but she knew what Scar had told them … that the Iron Throne had been meddling in the affairs of the other merchant costers in the city … that they should learn just what might be so amiss about their activities. Well … one of their members lying drunk and buried in garbage certainly seemed amiss enough.

"Yes," the man gestured vaguely, almost violently, about with a hand, and she let him go. "This is my c-city … beautiful, grand … dirty … _back­_-stabbing … Baldur's Gate." He blinked. And then he _did_ topple over, crashing down hard on his behind. "To the Hells with her!" He hunched over, his eyes wandering. "I need another drink …"

He glanced toward the bottle in his hand … but the bottom had been shattered when he fell. Then he stared longingly down at the clear liquid winding away into the cobbles.

"Aldeth Sashenstar?" the knight was demanding doubtfully aloud then. Even Coran had rounded back upon the scene, though Evelyn doubted that he knew anything of the man they had met in the Cloakwood before happening upon the Elf himself. Evelyn knelt down beside the drunken man.

"What happened?" she asked quietly. Imoen joined her a moment later on his other side.

Aldeth gazed from first one to the other. Finally, he seemed to settle on the raven-haired woman, giving her a glazed and sullen look.

"Oh 'tizz terrible, my dear … absolutely dreadful …" And so was his breath as he bobbed his head. She tried not to wince. "The broken fate of one … sorry … man … shoulds not concern you so, my beauty …"

He reached a clumsy hand out to her face, but she twisted back in surprise. Ajantis was there in an instant then, and so was Coran. Both of them managed to haul the drunk back up to his feet. He swayed there for a moment, blinking. And Evelyn gave both men a sharp look.

"What happened?" she asked Aldeth calmly once more. But the drunken man only shook his head. And then he shook himself free of their grasp.

"Why should _you_ … care …" he tried to stab a vindictive finger toward the raven-haired woman, but missed. "I remember now … Druid-friend!" he grunted at her of a sudden. "Gets you back to your _shtupid_ trees!"

The man slumped, but Coran caught him. Evelyn could see Dynaheir just beyond them watching, a hand on Minsc's arm. Ajantis was scowling to one side.

"My Lady …," the knight rounded on Evelyn then. "This man is a drunken _fop_ and hardly worth any more of our time!" He laid a hand on the drunken man's shoulder. But at her sharp eye, he stopped in his tracks. Coran glanced from one to the other, but said nothing.

"I care, Aldeth," she assured the man softly. But he was having none of it. He twisted around and thrust another finger at the curly-haired knight.

"You'd … you'd be drunk _too_," he pulled himself back away from Coran once more, "if your … if your closest friends were trying to kills you … s-spending all your money while you're gone huntings in the woods … and telling you … you're … you're nothing but a … a _drunk_!" He swiped a hand aside angrily. "_No_!"

Coran caught him quickly before he could fall again, grunting angrily against the sudden weight. The Elf rolled his eyes.

"Aldeth …," Evelyn began anew. The man blinked those glazed eyes up at her. She frowned at him in turn. "What do you mean … 'they're trying to kill you'? Who's trying to kill you?"

It was a strange enough thing to be sure. She somehow doubted that the druids had chased him all the way to the city still looking for blood. But fear and panic suddenly welled up in the drunken man's eyes. He just started shaking his head wildly.

She looked at the others briefly. Coran raised an eyebrow at her, and Ajantis only gave her that same heated look that meant he just wished for her to be done with it. Imoen's eyes were fixed worriedly on the drunken man in the Elf's arms. Dynaheir's face was smooth.

At the last, Evelyn glanced back over her shoulder toward the street. She could still see the Seven Suns building standing there. Jaheira and Khalid had yet to come out. After a few more moments, she turned back to the drunk.

"Aldeth …" She leaned in close. She caught the man's glazed eyes in hers. "Can you show me to these friends of yours?"

"What? N-no!" The drunken man's anger was almost as swift as that of the knights. "Hands off me, lout!" Aldeth barked, suddenly tearing himself free of the Elven man once again, only to nearly tumble back down to the cobbles. He managed to catch himself, though, but started shaking there where he stood. "I – I can't!" His anger quickly bled away to fear. "Th … they'll k-kill me! I – I knows it!" And then he suddenly seemed to collapse in on himself. There were tears in his eyes. "They've already taken _every_thing else … I've nothing left!"

"My Lady!" Ajantis snapped at her, pushing his way between them. She gave him a sharp eye. "Evelyn …" he followed then, taking her by the arms. "What are you doing?" He was shaking his head.

"I agree, sweetling," the Elf canted his own from behind the drunken man. "This is none of our concern."

But she only turned that look on Coran instead. "This _is _our concern," she told him, rounding back on the curly-haired man as well. And it was a good deal more productive than merely standing around waiting to see what Khalid and Jaheira probably _wouldn't _find in the Seven Suns. Whatever Scar had been speaking of … Aldeth's friends trying to kill him certainly seemed like _it_. They were all part of the Merchant's League. That certainly sounded to her like they were merchants. She forced the knight out of her way.

"We can help you, Aldeth" she told the drunken man, a reassuring hand on his dirty shoulder. He looked back up to her once more. "Will you show me to the Merchants' League?"

Aldeth Sashenstar glanced from first her and then the pink-haired woman at her side. Imoen looked toward her best friend.

"Yes …" And then Aldeth swept his glazed eyes swiftly across all of them. "Yes!" he uttered excitedly of a sudden. "You can s-speak to them for me!" He latched a hand onto the Elf behind him and then quickly moved to the raven-haired woman. "You … you spoke to the druids! Maybe … maybe you can help me …"

Evelyn started nodding her head, but the knight was breaking in before she could speak.

"What about the half-Elves?" he demanded angrily of her, snatching at her arm. His eyes bore down into hers. "Are we to abandon them here? What if something goes wrong?"

"Yes, sweetling," the Elf canted his head. "What of the Tethyrian and her husband? We can't just leave them."

She looked from first one to the other, but then she felt an elbow nudge her in the side.

"I'm with you, Eve."

She glanced over toward Imoen, her best friend smiling reassuringly back at her. The pink-haired woman shrugged.

"Jaheira and Khalid can take care of themselves." Imoen shook her head. "Besides … it's boring just sitting here waiting."

The two men both looked sharply toward the pink-haired woman, but she only shrugged once more. Evelyn just nodded.

"The more we learn the better," she uttered simply. And then she turned back toward Aldeth. Ajantis caught her by the arm once more.

"My Lady …"

"You can stay here," she told the knight. And then she glanced toward the Elf. "Both of you. If Jaheira and Khalid need any help, the two of you should be enough." And she didn't even feel bad about it, or her cold tone. Despite the Elf's words of last night, it would still have been good to remove herself from both of them and spare them the terrible fate they didn't seem to see. No matter what he had done, Xan had still proved the wisest of the three … though he should never have had to in the first place.

"Dynaheir, Minsc," she glanced toward the two Rashemi. "Come with me."

The dark-skinned woman only got to her feet with a small smile, ordering Minsc up along with her. Unlike the two men, she did not protest before moving over to join Imoen and Evelyn.

Evelyn glanced toward Coran and Ajantis once more. The Elf looked as if he would say something, but clamped his jaw shut, only canting his head sharply. The knight, however, ground his teeth. It was a surprise that he did not bare them at her. Finally, he turned away.

She spared one last look for the Seven Suns behind then, taking a deep breath. She was sure that Jaheira and Khalid would be alright. Imoen was right. They could take care of themselves. She knew that.

She took the drunken man firmly by an arm.

"Now, Aldeth," she fixed grimly on the man. His wavering eyes met hers briefly in return. "Show me where these friends of yours are."

Despite what hope he might have harbored for her just then … he did not look happy. Not at all. But she could manage.

Somehow … she always did.


	53. Chapter 5 Blood Money

_**Blood Money**_

"May I introduce … her Ladyship … my dearest, graceful … the Lady Vhrelunda …"

Aldeth suddenly swept a bow, flourishing his cloak. He was lucky that he managed to stay on his feet. The stern man standing before him seemed not to notice, though. He merely stared on … cold, and almost uncaring. But then his cracked features twisted suddenly in amusement. He smiled down at the sight before him then.

"Greetings … house guests," the man acknowledged them readily with a tip of his head. He was wearing a fine coat with no small amount of lace, spilling out at his neck and cuffs. He reached one of those hands out, taking that of the woman before him. "And greetings … my Lady Vhrelunda." That cold smile did not fade as he touched lips to dusky skin. And the Lady mirrored it quite nicely.

"Thank thee," she returned graciously, "for thy … kindly … hospitality." The dark-skinned woman, looking resplendent in her flowing violet dress and robes, even gave him just the faintest hint of a curtsy. The man retracted slowly, releasing her. His face could have cracked stone.

"Of course," he graced her with a slight nod of his head. "Anything for the … friends … that have our dear Aldeth so … excited."

The man himself, still wearing the soiled, gilded leathers of earlier, swayed there where he stood, but managed to keep his footing for the moment. He raised a hand briefly, acknowledging them … or his own name, or … well, it was hard to tell. And Evelyn stopped trying to quickly enough, looking back away. She lowered her eyes once more.

"I am certain that thou knowest why I am here?"

The man only continued smiling down at her.

"Aldeth has told me that you are … from Rasheman," he responded slowly, "with interests in establishing … Ah, business contacts … here in Baldur's Gate. If that is true … as Aldeth assures me that it is … then I must introduce myself." He sketched a slight bow. "I am Irlentree, one of Aldeth's partners in business … here … at the Merchants' Consortium."

"Greetings, Irlentree," Dynaheir returned readily enough, not taking her own cold eyes from the man. But he looked away from her then, gazing slowly about to two women and the one giant man gathered behind her. When those eyes fell on Evelyn, she could almost _feel _them boring into her. It was as if something were reaching out and brushing lightly against her skull, trying to work its way there in beneath her skin. She glanced up toward the man, blinking … but he moved quickly away. And it was gone. She turned hastily back down toward the floor.

And Irlentree was fixing back on the dark-skinned woman before him. "You are not … all … from Rasheman, yes?" he asked her in that same strange, halting manner. Evelyn had begun to notice it … the way he seemed to think over every word so carefully. It was not out of nervousness, though. Of that, she was sure. Instead, he regarded them with no small amount of enjoyment, it seemed to her. She wasn't quite sure just what to make of that. Yet.

But Dynaheir only shook her head, her lips still twisting upwards. "No. Only Minsc here doth share the same home as I." She laid a hand gently on the towering man beside her, the Rashemi having kept blessedly silent thus far. The giant was glaring at the man before them. He cracked a tooth down at the other.

"These others," the dark-skinned woman continued, raising her voice slightly as she gave the tattooed man a warning eye, "I have acquired during mine stay here in thy fair city." She glanced quickly back toward the man in lace, flashing him another smile that did not touch her eyes. Minsc stiffened where he stood.

Irlentree hardly blinked, still staring at her with that unreadable expression. "They seem rather … well armed … my Lady Vhrelinda." The Rashemi witch's own face matched his quite nicely.

"Vhrelunda," she corrected him, her voice even and that smile never leaving her lips. The other only bowed his head.

"Of course."

"And as for mine servants," she glanced briefly back over her shoulder. Her hand settled again on Minsc's bulging arm. "Only Minsc doth I permit to bear them in my presence. I knowest not all thine strange customs regarding maidservants," she gave Evelyn and Imoen both a disdainful look of a sudden before returning to Irlentree. "One can ne'er be too careful when traveling so far from home. Wouldst thou not agree?"

"Of course." Again, he bowed his head. And then he moved aside, taking another step down the pearlescent stairs and gesturing for them to pass. "I will keep you no longer." He smiled that cold smile once more. "I have other … pressing matters to attend to. To your … business."

Evelyn felt his eyes on her back all the way up the stairs to the second floor. She dared not look back.

* * *

"Well … that was creepy."

Evelyn gave her best friend a sharp look, her eyes going wide. But the other only rolled hers, folding her arms across her chest. They had left the man far below them and out of sight and hearing. Still … they had no idea just what trouble they might find there. Aldeth had said that his own friends had been trying to kill him … so what would stop them from maybe doing the same to them just for being there with him? They couldn't be too careful.

But then the drunken man was sudden breathing down her neck.

"Do you see? Do you see?" he was whispering harshly to her. Or at least, he was trying to. He hardly seemed to realize just how loud his voice really was. Fortunately, though, it wasn't loud enough.

"Irlentree would hardly be so easily fooled!" he continued excitedly, seeming almost pleased with himself. "Rasheman … that is very far away! He would have … have wondered what she is doing _here_!"

Evelyn snatched him up by the arm, pulling him close and looking hastily around. They were just on the landing of the second floor of that vaulted building, chiseled marble flowing forth beneath crimson carpeting under their feet. There was no one in sight. But still … they could hardly take any chances.

"Alright," she told him simply, trying to keep herself from getting too angry with him and just how little help he was giving them. "Alright."

She was anxious … wishing that she still had her staff. Knowing well that someone close by might have had half a mind to kill her along with the only somewhat _less_ drunken man beside her was trying enough. And she had half a mind of her own to take the ashwood back from the giant Rashemi who had strapped it across his back for safe keeping. But she knew well just how it would have seemed if she had been wearing a weapon. A visible one, anyways. Fuller's dagger was tucked in just inside her coat. The Kara-Turian blade was hugging her back.

They were supposed to be servants. Aldeth had told them that it would have been difficult to explain away their presence unless they could somehow put his fellow merchants at ease … and a prominent business venture was certainly the best choice he could come up with at such short notice. Though, she supposed, she could doubt that … given just what he had told them about his friends to begin with. But it had been something at least, and so far … it had worked. At that, she could only sigh.

Aldeth had still been terrified at the thought of returning the Merchant's League, even _with_ their promised protection. He had stammered on about just how his _friends_ had been trying to kill him, but it was not as if they merely wished to stick a blade in him when he wasn't looking. It had been hard enough to make sense of his drunken slurring, but she managed to catch something about returning from his hunting trip only to nearly have himself crushed, beaten, stabbed, or poisoned as he tried to settle back into life at home. His two partners had apparently denied the whole thing as unfortunate accidents. Not to mention he had started drinking shortly thereafter. But when Aldeth's own brother had tried to force two feet of steel through the man's chest while he was still sleeping in his bed …he had fled and tried to hide. His brother had been away on business in Cormyr for weeks, and he had not returned.

The two men who had accompanied Aldeth into the Cloakwood had hardly escaped from the man's cursed fate as well, or so he had told her in between fretful glances about the city streets he led them through. Veren had wound up face down, dead and drowned in a bowl of porridge inside his own home soon after the first 'attempts' on Aldeth's life. The other, Garret, had shown up sometime later, alive, but acting strangely. He had all but hounded his friend's steps every since. Aldeth still wasn't sure if he had lost him.

He had taken them to the Wide first, determined to visit the markets on the east side of the city where he could outfit them in a disguise for their incursion into the Merchant's League. The whole while he had dragged them through the streets, he had rambled on about turning around and getting his partners back for whatever it was that they had done and were trying to do. He was certain that they were the ones trying to kill him. And he had gone on and on, ranting in her ear about how he now had the perfect plan to expose them … with their help. One was Irlentree. The other … was a man named Zorl.

Evelyn had protested against the idea at first, thinking it too much a waste of time. Jaheira and Khalid would undoubtedly have returned from inside the Seven Suns by then, and Coran and Ajantis had only a vague idea of where the other four would be going. But when Aldeth had begun relaying his plan, and perusing through some fine dresses at a seamstresses' stand in the market square … she had really begun to realize how foolish that whole venture truly was. Even _if_ they were to find something more valuable than Jaheira and Khalid … she wasn't so sure it was worth the risk, not without consulting them first. And then he had tried to stuff her into one of those dresses. Fortunately, Dynaheir had stepped up to her aid just then.

The Rashemi woman had seemed to think something of Aldeth's plan … as haphazard as it had obviously been and still was. And she had decided that _she_ was the perfect one to pull off the part. Evelyn had certainly had no objections. She hardly cared for the thought of pretending to be some sort of noble lady or wealthy merchant. Coran had told her just what he thought of her acting back in the Cloakwood. And Imoen and her both shared similar dress besides. Stripped of their weapons, they could almost have made the perfect maidservants. At least they didn't have to speak.

But there had been another reason for their roles as well. She was just lucky that they had managed to hide at least _some_ of those weapons. Her best friend still had her knives – wherever she managed to stuff them all. She had meant to ask Imoen about that one of those days. Still, their task would be the most dangerous.

But they would hardly complete it just standing there on the landing. They had already been gone from the others for too long. She sighed. And then she gestured anxiously with a hand.

"After you … Lady Vhrelunda."

Dynaheir only gave her a small smile.

* * *

"History of the North, Sembia, Cormyr …"

Imoen pushed a whole handful of books aside with one sweep of an arm. Then she reached up and began rifling through a new set.

"The Unicorn Run, the Dead Three … Moonsea …"

Evelyn almost didn't notice her where she stood on the opposite side of the room, sifting through her own bookcase. She was steadily making her way from one to the other, eyeing each as quickly as she could before moving to the next. They didn't have much time, and they had to be careful besides, and–

"Ooo … Elminster's Ecologies …"

Imoen suddenly snatched up another book, and pulled it down off the shelf. Her best friend's eyes flashed toward her as she opened it and started glancing over the pages. Evelyn just thrust a finger to her lips, giving the other woman a fierce look. And then she was moving toward the next stack of books.

After a few more moments, though, Imoen snapped hers shut. It took a few _more_ moments before Evelyn realized that the other woman was just staring at her.

"What?" she finally asked, her voice low and impatient. But the other woman only shrugged.

"I dunno. What are we supposed to be looking for?"

Eve growled irritably in her throat, but didn't waste anymore time before circling in on the large desk that took up a good third of the room. She tried rattling a few locked drawers before frowning down at them. "I don't know." She shook her head and glanced briefly up at the other. "Something out of place?" She started tugging on another of those drawers, but it wouldn't budge. She clenched her teeth, pulling as hard as she could.

Imoen hopped down from the ladder she had been riding along the shelves, and put her hands on her hips.

"Well … how exactly are we supposed to know if it's out of place, huh?" she demanded then. "We've never seen it _in_ place …"

Evelyn cried out as she suddenly lost her grip on the handle of the drawer and tumbled back and over to the ground. She hit the carpeted floor hard, wincing more from the loud crash than for the pain. But Imoen just started laughing. The raven-haired woman leapt to her feet quickly, though, and silenced her with a glare.

They had to be careful.

Aldeth had continued on with Dynaheir and the others – the most visible ones. It was supposed to be some kind of tour of the premises … something about looking like he was trying to impress a new business venture, though, she was sure he would have already failed at that with the way he barely managed to stay on his feet half the time. But he had regained his composure somewhat, at least, over the past hour. She could only wonder how a man could drink so much when he was so sure that someone was trying to kill him. _She_ certainly couldn't have.

The man had had enough sense to point out one of his friends' offices, though, and to be discreet enough to allow some of them to slip away unnoticed. They had met another man in mail, armed and claiming to be the commander of the building's guard. He had been the hardest to get past, but Aldeth had seemed to trust him at least. The two maidservants, she had thought, would be the least likely missed. Especially if they were dismissed on some errand or another first. Fortunately, no one else had happened upon them yet. She wasn't quite sure how she would have explained their sneaking away and breaking into that office. She just hoped she wouldn't have to.

But as she stood there, staring at the other woman, she suddenly didn't feel so lucky. It was hard to believe that no one might have heard that fall. She started moving forward.

"We should go …"

It was disappointing … she could only hope that the others might have been more productive. But, she was starting to agree with her best friend. The more time they wasted there, the more she started to think that it all _was_ just a waste of time. She had spent enough time around Winthrop's inn to know just how silly and foolish men could be when they drank. And she probably shouldn't have thought much of Aldeth Sashenstar just imagining the whole thing. As unsettling as his friend Irlentree's behavior might have seemed, it wouldn't have been so odd if he had doubted their ruse from the beginning … which he very well might have. But they hardly needed to get caught _pawing_ through a merchant's office.

Aldeth had told them to look for something in that place … _anything_. Somehow he thought one of his partners might leave something about trying to have him killed lying around … a bloody dagger, a note … _something_. But Evelyn was already starting to see just how overly paranoid the man was being. And _she_, of all people, thought she knew something about _that_.

She brushed past her best friend. But Imoen didn't move with her. Instead, she stepped quickly back toward the desk.

"Hey … what's this?"

The pink-haired woman snatched something up from the wooden surface – a small handful of folded parchments. She started flipping through them, pouring over each briefly. Her best friend had stopped and turned around. She was frowning back at the other.

"Eve! Hey … you should look at these …"

Evelyn was still frowning as she stepped toward the other woman. But she didn't reach for the papers. Instead she pushed them aside and back down toward the desk with an irritated sigh. That venture had proved as fruitless as could be possible.

"Let's go."

She snatched the other woman's hand up in hers and started dragging her away, despite her protests. But as she was turning back, it was only to smack straight into the broad chest of a familiar mailed form. Imoen slammed to a halt beside her.

Two dark eyes were peering intently down at them beneath a conical helm, looking from first one to the other, and then the room about. She could almost have been glad of that … though the respite did not last long before he was bearing down on them once more. It had hardly been enough time for her to try to think. Those eyes suddenly narrowed.

"What were you doing?"

The breath caught in Evelyn's throat too swiftly for her to answer. The suspicion in the man's tone was all too plain for her to hear. She tried to take a step back to regroup, but he latched onto her arm quickly of a sudden, holding her fast. Imoen hardly escaped the same fate.

"These are the private offices of my employers," he announced impatiently down at them then, "and_ not_ the personal playground of thieving little wenches come to pilfer our coffers while their Rashemi mistress is away." And then his face drew suddenly close. "I don't care if your Lady _is_ the guest of Aldeth … you just don't cause trouble on _my_ watch."

Those heavy dark eyes burned into each of them in turn, and Evelyn only winced. He had remembered who they were … she wasn't so sure if that was a good thing or not. But at least he didn't just think they were thieves. Finally, she found her voice.

"Oh we're _terribly_ sorry," Imoen broke in before she could speak, though, and the guard commander suddenly rounded on her. "But we seem to have gotten … lost."

She shrugged as innocently as she could in his grasp, rolling her eyes. But the man only shook her roughly with his hand.

"Do you think me a fool, girl?" he demanded angrily. "I'm commander of the household guard! And I know thieving little witches when I see them …" He ground his bared teeth down at her. But the other hardly seemed daunted.

"_Thieving_?" the pink-haired woman gasped in horror. "Well I've never been so insulted …" She slapped the man hard across the jaw.

The guard commander rounded back on her swiftly, bristling and boiling over with rage all at once. Evelyn could only watch in horror. But then the other woman's eyes suddenly clouded over with angry tears.

"You think you're so much better than us because you're paid ta wear metal and strut around?" She started stabbing a finger into his mailed chest. "Well we're not afraid of you! My husband's the big one with the Lady …," She suddenly thrust a finger Evelyn's way, "and he cut out Eve's tongue fer talkin' rough to me once. And she's my best friend! Just whaddya think he'll do ta _you_?"

She hammered a fist into his arm. "Now you let us go, you big stupid oaf! Aldeth Sashenstar only wanted something from his office and the Lady Vhrelanda was quick to offer us ta go get it, seein' as how he's so short staffed with his _big_, _stupid_ _guard commanders_ running around calling servants 'thieving little witches'!" She waved her fingers mockingly and made her voice deep like his. She even stomped her feet a little bow-leggedly for emphasis. "Imoen do this, Eve do that! And now you callin' us names!" She thrust a vindictive hand at him once more. "How dare you!" But then she was slapping the man's arm again. "Now … let … me … go!" She tugged bodily on her arm.

But the man didn't release her. Instead he hauled her right back and even closer. His face was like a thunderhead as he beared down on her then. Evelyn was still staring in shock. But the man's voice was strangely soft, and calm.

"I thought it was Vhrelunda …?"

His eyes were hard as steel.

Imoen only blinked up at him.

"No!" she was shaking her head suddenly. "It's Vhrelanda … I would know, you … you …"

And then her leg was suddenly flying up between the man's legs. He grunted loudly against the blow, falling down to one knee. And Imoen quickly twisted away.

"Run, Eve!"

But before the pink-haired woman could make for the door, the guard had an arm thrust out in front of her. It struck Imoen hard in the chest and her feet flew out from under her with a sharp cry. Her back thumped down loudly on the carpeted floors below. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment.

She swung her arm around swiftly while the man was distracted, though he had somehow managed to keep his grip on her. But then his arm was twisting around and behind his back, and her boot was flashing up toward his face. It took him in the jaw, and he tumbled down to both his knees. His conical helm flew free into the air. Before she could hit him again, however, his arm suddenly snapped around, throwing her back. She stumbled away further into the room.

And then steel rang loudly through the chamber.

Evelyn came back around, Fuller's dagger in hand … but the man had two feet of metal resting down against her best friend's neck. He was breathing hard, his face red, as he stared down at the fallen woman. Whatever Imoen had thought to do to him with that kick, the steel cod-piece at his belt had lessened it somewhat. She seemed to only realize that just then, as she lay there with her hands held up placatingly … for whatever good it would do. But then the man was rounding on Eve.

"I don't know who you _really_ are," he began with acid in his voice, "but I don't like liars. I'll give you a second chance … so I suggest you start telling the truth before I turn you over to the Flaming Fist." He extended that long blade toward Evelyn briefly. "That is … if there is even enough _left_ of you by then to hand over …"

Evelyn only thrust a hand back under her coat. And then the Kara-Turian blade was in the other. She pointed both at _him_ …

The man's eyes went wide, but then he just shook his head with a scowl.

"I knew there was something wrong with the lot of you …"

Imoen was stirring beneath him.

"We're telling the truth!" the pink-haired woman snapped up at him angrily. "_He_ told us to come here …"

But the man had that blade back and pressing into the other's neck in an instant. She flattened herself against the floor once more.

"That's a _damned_ lie!" he snorted down at her. "I was with Aldeth the _whole_ time!"

"Well you're not with him now!" she chided. The guard commander's teeth only clenched tighter.

"Wait!"

Evelyn lowered both her weapons.

"That is _enough_, girl!"

"Don't you–"

The blade suddenly pressed deeper. And Imoen gasped sharply in reply.

"WAIT!"

The guard looked abruptly to the raven-haired woman, his teeth bared. She briefly wondered if he still thought her a mute. But then she let both of her hands fall down at her sides. She tucked the dagger back in at her belt. "Please!" she lifted one hand pleadingly. "Don't hurt her …"

But the man hardly eased his hold on the other woman. Instead his jaw cracked loudly. "I suggest you start talking, girl …" His gaze was hard and fierce. Imoen's eyes flashed toward her instead.

"Don't do it, Eve!" the pink-haired woman hissed up at her, twisting her head aside. "She's not afraid of you!" Her eyes flashed back toward the man above. "She'll show you! She'll–"

"QUIET!"

The blade finally seemed to press deep enough then to shut the other woman up. Her eyes were wide – angry, and terrified. The man rounded back on Evelyn.

"Now … I believe you were just about to explain yourself …"

She took a deep breath, but did not hesitate before she started telling him the truth of just why they were there. Aldeth had seemed to trust the man at least. Maybe she could too. But she didn't let the curved Kara-Turian blade go for an instant … not so long as he still had _his_ sword digging into Imoen's neck. He was frowning at her before she was done.

Evelyn stopped then, abruptly. If the whole thing hadn't seemed ridiculous to her before, well … it certainly did now that she heard it out loud from her own tongue. She had thought briefly to try to lie to the man as Imoen had done, but she had never been so clever or quick-thinking as her best friend. And she suddenly realized how pointless it would have been. The guard commander seemed to agree with her by the look he was giving her then. And she just shut her mouth and waited for him to tell her just how ludicrous he thought that whole situation was.

"I suppose it did seem a little odd," the man said slowly, his brow furrowing. "It is unlike Aldeth to entertain business guests while still obviously deep in the drink. He has been acting strangely of late … though this would seem to explain a little of that quite well. Providing, of course, that you are now telling the truth."

Evelyn opened her mouth to argue further, but the man had already moved his blade away from Imoen's neck. "It is a bit extravagant of a tale to simply imagine, though, I will admit." He eased the steel back down into its sheath at his side. "But it fits matters quite nicely."

And then the man was thrusting a hand down toward Imoen. The pink-haired woman frowned warily back up at him. But, after a moment, she took the proffered gesture. Only when she was back on her feet did Evelyn finally slip the curved blade into its sheath behind her back once more. The lavender coat was buttoned up enough so that no one could have seen the sword belt wrapped snugly around her chest. She hoped they didn't notice the small lump on her back either.

"Mercenaries?"

The guard commander cast Evelyn a brief look. She shook her head.

"We …" She hesitated, glancing toward her best friend as the woman came up beside her. "We … _helped_ Aldeth," she finally settled on _that_, "back in the Cloakwood Forests … where we met him."

The man fixed her anew at that. His eyes widened slightly.

"You," he breathed. And then he nodded his head. "He said something about you …" His face suddenly grew hard. "I suppose I might be able to trust you then, at least …"

Evelyn felt relieved at that. She supposed it meant that he would be letting them go at least. He probably thought all of that even more of a drunken man's irrational nightmare than she. But before she could even start moving back toward the door, the man was speaking once more.

"There might be something to Aldeth's fears, though," the guard commander began thoughtfully anew. Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks before they had even begun. "To tell you the truth," he continued, "I've been somewhat suspicious of my other employers as well."

She frowned at him, suddenly feeling just a little disappointed that that fruitless chase might not be so pointless after all. Her eyes flashed briefly toward Imoen at her side, but the other woman was only rubbing at her neck with a pained look on her face. She didn't seem to care so much about what the man was saying then.

"They haven't been themselves lately," the guard commander mused on, glancing up at her, "and they seem to have a completely callous outlook on the future of their business. I'd almost have to say that Irlentree and Zorl aren't who they say they are, or they've had their minds taken over, or some other rot." He said the last almost jokingly, though the levity in his voice burned out quickly enough. "Unfortunately," he continued more gravely, "there's nothing I can do. They're my employers. And _you_ had best be careful," he thrust a finger toward them. "Aldeth's friends have had a habit of winding up dead as of late."

There was a moment's pause, and Evelyn almost thought that that had been their cue to leave and go find Dynaheir and Minsc again. The man just stood there, seeming to think the matter over. Imoen had finally forgotten her bruised neck. But then those dark eyes flashed up toward hers once more.

"I might be able to turn a blind eye if you continue to investigate this matter," he mused quietly aloud after another moment. "Aldeth might be drunk, but he's still thinking at least. If you can find some hard proof that exposes whatever's been happening … I might be able to do something about this whole mess."

"Well, we were _trying _to–"

"But first," the guard commander cut the pink-haired woman's chiding remark off abruptly, glancing back over his shoulder, "we have to get you out of here. You will have a much harder time explaining this to my employers should they catch you in here."

He had them both by the shoulders, and before either of the two women could say anything, he was pulling them along back toward the door. "We'll rendezvous with Aldeth first … talk matters over a little in private. I can't vouch for all the household guards given the circumstances … but I'm sure that we can …"

The door swung open ahead of them, and the man trailed off uselessly. They came to an abrupt stop just before the entryway. A man stood there on the other side.

For a moment … no one spoke a word. The stranger on the other side merely studied them each curiously in turn, his face pale beneath the dark beard that framed his hard mouth. His eyes finally blinked upward to the guard commander behind them, however. His brow lifted expectantly toward the man.

"Brandilar?"

The armored man – Brandilar – hesitated for only the briefest of moments. He was bowing his head so quickly that Evelyn was sure the other could not have noticed. His voice was blessedly even.

"Master Zorl," he acknowledged the bearded man in his fine dark, stately robes readily. "I was just escorting these two young women back to their Mistress – the Lady Vhrelunda, who is a guest of Aldeth's at the moment. It seems they were sent on an errand to retrieve something from his office and got … lost."

The other stared at the guard commander for a moment, his face unreadable. But then he suddenly blinked and seemed to come back to life.

"The Lady Vhrelunda?" he asked curiously. And then he nodded his head. "Ah, yes. That charming woman who has come to visit us from … Rasheman, was it? Irlentree said something to me about it all …" He made a clicking sound in his throat. "My, so many new faces in our humble place of business …"

There was silence again. It was almost palpable. It was all Evelyn could do not to shift there anxiously from foot to foot. She half expected Imoen to be doing just that beside her, but the other woman seemed to be keeping her reserve. Finally, Brandilar spoke.

"If you will excuse us … Master Zorl …"

The man's face had gone deathly still once more. And then it suddenly popped back into motion. He stayed the other with a hand.

"Allow me, Brandilar," the bearded man offered generously. "I have been meaning to speak with our good friend Aldeth anyways. And I'm sure it will be absolutely fascinating to speak to someone from that faraway land."

The breath caught in Evelyn's throat of a sudden, and she could feel her best friend tense up beside her. It was an effort not to clutch at the dagger at her waist. But Brandilar saved her much of that effort swiftly enough, his hands still resting on each of their shoulders firmly.

"That will be quite alright, milord," the guard commander broke in immediately. "I would not dare ask you to trouble yourself over servants."

"And I would not dare find it troublesome to deal with them." There was just the slightest hint of an edge to the man's voice as he raised his chin and gave the other a purposeful look. "Besides, I would wish to make a favorable impression upon our guest. And these two young ladies might tell me something of their mistress so that I do not trip over my own tongue upon meeting her. I am certain that you have much more important duties to attend to."

Brandilar opened his mouth to speak once more, but the bearded man continued on over him quickly.

"Commander …"

His voice was soft, yet reproachful. The other clicked his mouth shut.

"I hope you had not intended on leaving your helm here, Commander." Zorl gestured suddenly then across the room toward where the conical steel still lay upon its side on the floor. Brandilar turned toward it, pausing for the briefest of moments. But then he nodded back toward his employer.

"Of course not, milord."

Evelyn met his eyes briefly, but they were unreadable. And as he moved to retrieve his helm, two slender hands were then herding her and Imoen toward and through the door.

"Come, come, my young friends. Let us away toward Aldeth and your mistress."

Evelyn only caught one last glimpse of the guard commander as they turned away. He had picked up his helm but he merely stood there, holding it in his hand. And then he turned slowly toward them. Whatever she might have seen in his eyes at that moment, though, was lost. The bearded man had already begun moving them swiftly away down the hall, the whole while a generous smile upon his lips. She wasn't so sure if that was a good thing or bad.

Not for the first time in the past few minutes, Evelyn began to wonder if it was still possible just to up and leave that place without worrying about a blade thrust into her back. She glanced over toward her best friend and thought she saw the same thoughts mirrored in the other woman's eyes. That place had proved more than a little unsettling, and she wasn't sure just who she trusted least. But there was nothing for it then. She would have to wait until they reached the Rashemi.

Somehow, though, she just couldn't help feeling her skin crawl with those eyes so close on her back as Aldeth's friend Zorl led them down those halls. She didn't need to see Brandilar's last look to know just what it would have been. It would have been a warning. And, somehow … she knew that they had already stridden far too deep into that trap.

The hand tightening on her shoulder seemed to agree.


	54. Chapter 5 Changing Faces

_**Changing Faces**_

"Excuse me …"

Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks. Imoen stopped beside her. She swallowed.

"… my lord, but …"

The man came to a halt. She cleared her throat.

"… where are we going?"

She shook her head, unsure as to whether a servant should have spoken to a man like him as such. But then he was rounding slowly back upon them. His face was as still as death.

"Did you find what Aldeth sent you to retrieve for him?" His eyes and tongue suddenly burst back into motion. Evelyn only blinked at him.

"What?"

Imoen nudged her hard in the side.

The man cracked a smile at them. He took a step forward.

"Tell me …," he pursed his thin lips beneath his beard, "just what did you find in my office?"

They were alone. That extravagant hallway stretched on around them, red-trimmed carpet and pristine marble beneath their feet. There were no servants. There were no guards. There was no Aldeth or Dynaheir or Minsc. There was just her, and Imoen … and that bearded merchant.

She gave the pink-haired woman a look. The other returned it.

Her hand was clutching the dagger at her waist. And she started to slide it free …

But the other was still speaking.

"What if I was to tell you," Zorl continued slowly, his eyes still fixed and unwavering, "… that we were both looking for the same thing …?"

She felt her hand stop. It gave her pause. But she hardly released the dagger.

Evelyn frowned at the bearded man.

"What do you mean?"

The other only smiled once more, taking another step toward them.

"You found … the letters … did you not?"

Evelyn shook her head slightly, hardly knowing just what he meant. But Imoen seemed somewhat less confused beside her. She gave the woman a sidelong look.

The man nodded.

"Then you must know of Shalak," he began, "and how that creature was meant to kill me and assume my position here, cleanly, and with none the wiser."

He looked from one woman to the other, but Evelyn still wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. Imoen kept that hand buried beneath her coat at her side, though. Her pixie face was strangely hard, and set.

"I know what you are thinking …" The man was fixing Imoen with a discerning eye. His lips twitched upward. He almost seemed amused. "But I am not who you think I am …"

Imoen said nothing. Evelyn glanced quickly from first one to the other. Zorl's face had gone still for a brief moment once more.

"Shalak attempted to dispose of me some time ago," he continued. "But I assure you … he was not successful." He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving them. "I drove the creature, whatever it was, off … it had been posing as one of the household guards." He paused. "But I managed to take something from its person first … a letter. That … you undoubtedly saw …"

The pink-haired woman made no move. She still did not speak. Her hand had not moved from inside her coat.

"Someone wanted our leading members dead," the man spoke on. "Aldeth, Irlentree, and myself. Aldeth was away at the time, but Irlentree and I were not. I drove Shalak off … but I was not so fortunate to have killed him. And he did not leave for good …"

His voice was sure and slow, and if he knew anything of just how armed the two women before him were … he hardly seemed perturbed. It was that, more than anything, that was beginning to seed more doubt in Evelyn's mind. And then she blinked at him in surprise.

"Irlentree …"

The bearded man glanced back over toward her. He nodded his head.

"Shalak murdered Irlentree instead … I am sure of it." His face hardened just a little at that. "I had already begun using the letter I found to try and trace this conspiracy back to its source – whoever ordered our deaths had still believed that Shalak had succeeded in his original task. I began conversing with his master as if he had." He gave them each a pointed look. "And it was soon after that that Irlentree had begun doing some … uncharacteristic things."

Evelyn glanced toward her best friend. The man must have been speaking of the papers the other woman had found. But Eve hadn't looked at them. Imoen's brow was furrowing as she studied the other. Her hand was not so tight beneath her pink coat.

"My old friend has been trying to kill me ever since," he continued more strongly. "I am sure of it. And when Aldeth returned … unfortunately, the man did not take matters so well as I did. Though he managed to stay alive … with a little luck, and a little help …"

Imoen shook her head.

"Brandilar …"

"Brandilar is a good man," Zorl spoke over her quickly. "Simple, but good." His eyes narrowed. "But Irlentree controls his wages, as he does _all_ of the household guard. I ask you … where do you think the man's loyalties might lie?" He shook his head. "I could not afford to trust him. And neither can you."

Evelyn stared at the bearded man, frowning deeply. After everything they had been told so far, it was getting hard to keep her head from spinning with all the lies and scheming that seemed to be going on behind everything there in that building. Everyone seemed to think they knew what was going on … and everyone else seemed like they had a finger pointed at them or couldn't be trusted. Half the people were trying to _kill_ each other. But she thought she remembered Winthrop saying something about that kind of thing long ago. Backstabbing. Maybe _all_ merchants were like that … she didn't know.

What she did know, though, was that Zorl seemed to be the closest to finding out just _who_ was behind that conspiracy among the merchants in the city. It had been exactly what Scar had told them to look for. He wanted to know – that had been his price. And, maybe, if they could find some hard proof …

She almost didn't care about what was happening there. She almost didn't care about Aldeth Sashenstar, or scheming merchants, or … or just who was trying to stick a blade in who! As long as it wasn't _them_. All she cared about … was getting into the Irone Throne and finding Sarevok Anchev. And if what this man knew was just what Scar was looking for, well … she could deal with that place just a little bit longer.

She nodded resolutely to herself. And then she fixed the other with an eye. She opened her mouth.

But the bearded man suddenly started where he stood, his eyes flashing wildly about. He almost crouched down warily there in the middle of the hall. Evelyn blinked at him in surprise. But it was not for them.

He fixed finally on the other end of the hall.

"Come," he voiced urgently. He lifted a hand toward them, gesturing frantically. "We have stayed here too long already, and this is no place to speak of such things! I do not know just how many of the guard might be in that imposter's service! Come!"

The robed man rounded back abruptly, hurrying away down the hallway. Evelyn's eyes flashed over toward her best friend's, but she hardly had time to wait and see just what the other woman would say. Imoen was glancing warily back over her shoulder. She seemed to believe the man somewhat at least. But he was swiftly getting away from them.

And then the two women were hurrying on after the other, the bearded merchant tearing away quickly and quietly through the pristine halls.

She could manage just a little bit longer … she was sure of it.

* * *

Three hallways, two side passages, and a vacant sitting room later, though … Evelyn had gotten completely lost.

Her best friend gave her an anxious look beside her, both women slinking along the walls as if someone were actually hounding their steps. But Zorl had been adamant about letting no one see them … if a guard were to spot them attending the merchant, then there was no telling if he could be trusted or not and whether or not Irlentree might hear of it and put them in even greater danger. As it was, they seemed harmless enough with their Rashemi mistress, though Zorl told them he had no doubt that Shalak had seen right through their ruse. It had made sense at least, and it explained why the man had been acting so strangely before. They could only hope that Irlentree was still busy with his other duties … and that they didn't include finding ways to kill the lot of them.

They had seen no one in their hasty flight. The bearded man had guided them along through empty passages and rooms, always making certain ahead of them that the way was clear. But with each step, Evelyn began to feel her heart sink further and further. For all they knew, Aldeth was already dead and Minsc and Dynaheir with him. It had been the first time the man had been back to the Merchant's League since nearly being killed by a man that looked like, but could not have been, his brother. And they had accompanied him in besides. If Shalak had panicked, as he very well might have, he could have taken the opportunity to just kill them all while he had the chance. If he had the entire house guard under his control, it certainly wouldn't have been too hard. And that only made her think terrible things about just what she might have gotten the two Rashemi into. _They _should have been the ones escaping with Zorl for help, not _her._ But there was nothing to do for it now, but to regroup … and prepare for whatever might come.

Zorl stopped ahead of them. In his stout slippers and silken robes, Evelyn didn't hear him. She almost knocked him over before she realized that he was holding them back with a hand. He glanced furtively around the next corner. A moment later, he returned to them.

"Go!" he gestured curtly with his head. "Up the stairs!" There was another pristine set of steps rising up ahead of them just around the bend. Evelyn looked sharply back at the man. "I will follow in a moment … Go!"

Evelyn gave him a concerned look, glancing once more about toward the empty halls. They could not have been vacant much longer. And then she nodded at the man. Pulling Imoen along after her, they flew quickly up the steps toward the floor above.

She just barely caught sight of a man in armor walking into sight at the end of the hall behind before they were gone.

They stopped to catch their breath at the top of the steps, looking warily about. Imoen was staring back down the way they had come. Evelyn could just hear Zorl speaking down there at the bottom. It must have been with the guard.

"This isn't good, Eve …" her best friend was saying quietly. She gave her another worried look. "What about Dynaheir and Minsc? If all of the guards are …"

Evelyn only nodded her head. "I know …" The other woman shook hers.

"I thought we could trust Brandilar …"

"Maybe we can," was all the raven-haired woman said. Zorl had not told them for sure whether or not the man was with Shalak. He had certainly _seemed _as if he wasn't.

But then the robed man was poking his bearded head up from below on the stairs. He hurried up to meet them, casting a brief glance back down as he did so. And then he joined them at the top.

"In here," he gestured with a hand past them toward a set of doors across the landing. "We should be safe."

Without a moment's hesitation, Evelyn stepped hastily across to the door. She looked down the hall to either side, her hand landing on the latch. Only a maid was in sight, but she was walking away with her back to them. And then Evelyn pushed it open.

She came up instantly short.

Imoen bumped into her from behind, pressing into the room. And then Zorl was at their rear, moving slowly in as well. The pink-haired woman's eyes went wide.

Six men were sitting around a large table in the middle of the room … it seemed like a simple dining chamber at best. They all looked as one to the three barging into the room.

The bearded man paused behind them, but hardly seemed perturbed by the presence of the others. It was then that Evelyn realized they were all dressed in servant's garb, one even wearing a cook's apron. She could have almost thought they had interrupted a meal, but no one was speaking … and there was no food to be seen.

Each of the six servants rose slowly to their feet. They instantly fixed on Zorl. For several moments, no one said anything. But then the bearded man was bobbing his head. He looked past them toward the others.

"When you are done," he said aloud, "I want the two of you to join me with our other guests downstairs."

Evelyn looked back toward him, but the man wasn't speaking to her or Imoen. A few of the servants simply nodded. The robed merchant held up a key for them to see. He stuck it in the door. And then he _was_ speaking to them.

"I hope to see your faces again soon," Zorl told the two women with a small smile. But before Evelyn could even begin to make sense of that, he had turned around and strode briskly back through the door. It closed quickly behind.

Imoen was at the thing in an instant, pulling viciously at the handle. "Hey!" she pounded a hand angrily into the wood. Her best friend hardly needed to check herself to know that it had been locked.

Instead, she turned back toward the servants.

The six men were on their feet, and a few of them were grinning at them wolfishly. She didn't know exactly what they were supposed to do with them, or what Zorl needed two of them for afterward. But she didn't like those looks at all. It seemed like nothing so much as six cats had suddenly caught two mice in a trap.

Evelyn slipped a hand behind her back, and pulled the Kara-Turian blade free. Fuller's dagger joined it in her other hand.

Unfortunately for them, she thought grimly, those mice at least … had claws of their own.

Seeing steel suddenly in their prey's hands gave the six men pause. They had no weapons of their own that Evelyn could see. But it did not last long.

One of the men leapt at them without a second thought. He came at her from the side, and the raven-haired woman swung around to meet him … but a dagger suddenly buried itself in the side of the man's head. He went down with a sharp, strangled cry.

Imoen was at her side, another knife in her hand. The servant she had struck was writhing on the ground while the others had only slowed in their advance. She had a knife in both her hands then.

"Stay back!" the pink-haired woman shouted at them. "I'm warning you …"

But Evelyn only clutched her two blades tighter from beside her. The men hardly seemed as if they were listening … or cared. The space between them was closing all too quickly.

Another two of them came at them, hissing and roaring as they swung heavy fists towards the women. Evelyn ducked beneath one, slicing him up along his ribs. She planted Fuller's dagger in the other's side. Then she was leaping past them.

Two more had cornered Imoen, but the woman caught one in the chest with a knife, the other in the thigh. They both went down quickly enough, grunting. And Evelyn was closing in on the last.

She whirled around, her boot coming up to strike the man hard on the face as she neared him. His head snapped to one side, and she had already started to turn away. But he did not fall. Instead those two eyes rounded slowly back on her.

She stood there for a moment, blinking at him in surprise. But she recovered swiftly. Hefting the Kara-Turian blade in her other hand, she thrust it toward the man's side.

But he was ready for her. He twisted away, the blade flashing past. And then he had her wrist in his hand. He wrenched it aside.

She cried out sharply, and the blade tumbled free from her hand. But she didn't have anymore time to wonder just how the man had possibly been able to move that fast. She was free in the next instant, twisting away. Before she could, though, a hand swept in, and his fingers were closing around her throat.

She started to gasp, but the breath caught in her lungs. And then, what's more … he lifted her clear off her feet. She hung there, dangling in the air in his grasp, her eyes wide. His own just narrowed up at her in turn.

"Your time is done … _primate_!" he snarled through clenched teeth.

And then he started to squeeze …

There was a flash of pink … and Imoen was there, stabbing down viciously into the man's throat. Evelyn dropped free from his grasp, crumpling down to the floor while her friend tore into the servant's neck. He was gargling blood … and Evelyn was choking almost in tandem with him there on the ground. An elbow took the pink-haired woman in the chest, though, and she tumbled over backwards onto the table behind them. The man staggered.

He was dead. Blood was pouring vengefully out of his neck, and it was all he could do to keep himself on his feet for just those few moments longer as his eyes darted wildly about. And then they suddenly clouded over milk-white. Evelyn could only watch, gagging on her knees, as he toppled over.

She hadn't wanted to kill any of them … no matter what they might do. The blood singing in her veins seemed to disagree. She forced it aside.

As the man slumped over onto his side, though … his skin started to shrivel up and recede. Her eyes went wide again as she watched, still choking as the dead man's flesh just started … _crawling_ … there on his bones. All his color drained. The clothes he had been wearing fell loose about his corpse.

She didn't have long to look, however. She twisted back around only to see the others climbing back to their feet. Some were pulling out Imoen's knives, and Evelyn could only watch in disbelief. Those wounds should have kept them down at least. Imoen was back on her feet beside her.

She watched the four men begin closing in on them once more … seeming just a little less amused, and angrier than before. Only the one with the dagger in the side of his head didn't stand. He was snarling wildly there on the floor. Evelyn snatched up the Kara-Turian blade from beneath her.

As she watched those other four, glancing briefly toward the one already dead on the ground, though, her thoughts turned grim. She suddenly didn't think so much of their chances anymore. Whatever was going on there … those men were far from ordinary servants. And Zorl had lied to them. He had locked them in there to die.

She looked sharply at the door past the four seeming servants of a sudden then. The bearded merchant had locked them in there … but he must have done it from the inside. Otherwise, those others could not have gotten out when they had finished with her and Imoen. And he had meant for them too. They must have had a key.

"Imoen!" she hissed at the other woman. Her best friend blinked in surprise, giving her a quick look before fixing back on the the four men closing in on them. They had both started easing their way back into the room.

"A key! We have to find their key!"

Imoen just gave her a wide-eyed look as if she was mad, but it didn't take her long to understand. She nodded her head quickly enough.

The men had begun to spread out. Before she knew it, they had surrounded them. Evelyn swiped several times with her blade, trying to keep them from getting too close. Imoen held two more knives in her hands. Eve could only wonder just how many she might_ have_. She doubted it would have been enough.

"There!"

The pink-haired woman thrust one of her knives toward the fifth man still lying on the floor. There was a small iron key ring at his belt. Thankfully, it only had one.

But each of the four men standing leapt at them of a sudden then, one taking Imoen instantly off her feet. Evelyn sidestepped the next, stabbed another – not caring this time whether it killed him or not – and leapt over toward her best friend. She pulled free Fuller's dagger from one of the others, hammered the hilt down into the one atop Imoen, and booted the other in the face. He went sprawling. And then she was rolling over, her best friend with her.

Imoen landed on the wounded man, pulling free her knife and slicing free the key ring at his belt all in one motion. Evelyn pulled her back to her feet. In another moment they were hurtling toward the door.

Something caught Imoen's foot, and she cried out sharply as she went down. The raven-haired woman spun back around – the wounded man had snatched the other woman's boot. She leapt toward him, Kara-Turian blade in hand. But she reeled back in surprise as she caught sight of his face. It was pale and distorted, milk-white eyes glaring up at her. There were no pupils. A knife was still sticking out the side.

Most of the others were back on their feet. Evelyn hardly wasted another moment. Whatever that thing was … it wasn't a man. She brought the curved blade down hard on its arm. The thing howled aloud, and Imoen pulled free. And then they were jamming the key hurriedly into the door.

The wood closed quickly behind. The last thing Evelyn saw was one of those man-servant-things leaping towards them. But then it slammed hard into the door. She shoved the key back down into the hole, locking it once more. The two women started backing away.

"What …?" Imoen trailed off, her eyes wide and breathing hard. But her best friend only shook her head beside the other, chucking the key hurriedly away and far down the hall.

"I don't know."

Whatever they were, they were gone for the moment. And they had far more important things to worry about, the least of which … was Zorl. Aldeth had been right about him. He had probably been right about Irlentree too. But she hardly knew just what to think anymore. Whatever was going on in that place, she just stopped trying to make sense of it right then and there. They turned away.

Something slammed hard behind them, and both women jumped. Evelyn was twisting instantly back around, her eyes going wide once more. All she could see was a knot of gray, hairless arms squirming out of a large hole in the wooden door behind. Wood shards littered the floor. They were reaching for the handle.

And that was far more than she had wanted to see.

"Come on!"

Imoen snatched her arm and pulled her away. And then they were charging back down the stairs to the floor below.

She didn't dare look back again.

* * *

It was starting to make sense to her.

As she began to realize that the passages around them couldn't possibly have wound so much as they had seemed while Zorl had led them on that wild chase through the Merchant's Consortium, she could only think of just how much of a fool she had been. He hadn't been keeping them away from the guards … at least she didn't think so. He had been keeping them away from Aldeth and the two Rashemi. It had _all_ been a lie …

And now she was staring down a not so familiar passage, no few guards and servants to be seen striding up and down the halls in every direction. None of those guards had even given her a second glance … at least not until they saw the Kara-Turian blade and the dagger in her hands. And then steel was sliding free.

"What are we gonna do, Eve?"

Her best friend was casting no few wary looks toward the pair of guards that had suddenly started shouting at them and hurrying down the hall, swords in hand. Maybe they _were_ under Irlentree's orders … or even Zorl's. But even if they didn't know just what two women charging down their halls, one with weapons in hand, meant, that certainly wouldn't have stopped them from trying to catch the two.

But they hardly had time to get caught.

"We have to find them," was all she said back to her friend. The other woman knew full well what she meant. Zorl had told those servant-things to join him with his 'other guests' downstairs. He could only have meant Dynaheir and Minsc. And that meant that the two were still alive. At least for the moment.

Given just how he had treated _those_ two guests, though, Evelyn hardly thought that would last for very long.

She hardly wasted another moment before bolting down that hallway she didn't recognize. If nothing else, at least she knew that none of the ones they had been down before were likely to be where they would find Aldeth and the Rashemi. The two guards charged after them.

She almost passed right by it. They reached the end of the hall quickly enough, the guards right on their heels. And then they were flying down the next. But Imoen snatched her up swiftly, pulling her back. She turned. And there … strewn about a large sitting room … was everyone.

She could see Zorl. He was sitting in a chair, enjoying what looked to be a glass of wine. Irlentree too, was there. He was standing off to one side. Brandilar was next to him, looking none too happy. Aldeth was in a corner next to a large rack full of bottles and a bar, tilting his head back with one in hand. And Dynaheir was sitting next to the black-robed man in another chair, Minsc standing at her back. She was flashing the man one of those small smiles that did not touch her eyes.

But all at once … every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on _them_.

For a moment, no one spoke.

It did not last long.

"What is the meaning of this?" Brandilar demanded angrily from one side of the room, even as Zorl slowly rose to his feet. Evelyn just began moving her way warily around, circling the black-robed man with her blades before her and closing on the two Rashemi, her teeth bared. Imoen followed closely on her heels. They said nothing.

In the corner, Aldeth just tipped his bottle back all the way.

But as the bearded merchant came to stand … the smile bled off his lips. He glanced toward the man in lace.

The other simply nodded.

Evelyn wasn't sure just where it came from, but there was a dagger in Irlentree's hand then. Without a second thought, it slammed hard up and into the throat of the guard commander beside him. The man hardly had time to gasp before he was tumbling down to his knees, clutching at his throat and loosing blood to the carpets below. The man in lace pulled free a sword at his side.

Zorl was moving almost at once. Evelyn leapt toward him, blades bared, but he was too quick. Minsc suddenly howled, and that massive sword came free. Dynaheir was on her feet. The giant man leapt clean over her chair.

The guards who had followed them were in the door. They didn't last long. Zorl paid none of them any mind. Without a word, he pushed through the two men, bowling them over with a hand to either mailed chest. Both went down with two loud grunts to the floor below. And then the bearded merchant vanished into the hallway beyond.

Irlentree had that blade thrust out before him even as the giant Rashemi closed in swiftly. There was no fear in his eyes as he faced the larger man. But then that massive sword was sweeping toward the other's skull. The slender blade was hardly enough to stop it. That same expression never left his face … even as it came to rest on the other side of the room.

The only sound in the sitting room for a moment then … was Aldeth gulping down the last of the bottle in his hands.

Evelyn glanced toward the two guards climbing back to their feet at the door, and then the two corpses bleeding out on the floor. At least they knew just what side Brandilar had been on …

"I think it's time to go …"

She almost didn't care anymore. She should have let those merchants solve their own problems in the first place. And they hadn't learned anything at all …

She started to turn away, but Dynaheir caught her arm.

"Look," the other woman told her firmly. She gestured with one slim hand toward the corpse of Irlentree there on the floor. The face of the man Minsc had killed was still the same where it lay several feet away … but the body was different. It had shriveled up somehow, just like the others. She looked sharply to the witch.

"A Doppleganger," the woman breathed, eyes wide in surprise. But Evelyn hardly knew just what that was supposed to mean. And she didn't have time to think about it. Steel suddenly started ringing in the halls beyond. And screams were quick to follow.

She pushed past the two guards as they got back to their feet without another word. Imoen was on her heels. And so were the two Rashemi. And then she was back out into the hallway … and chaos.

_Everything_ … was chaos.

She looked from first one end to the other, but it was the same. Guards in mail had swords free, suddenly tearing into each other and maids and servants both. A man in dark livery rounded a corner … only to have his head swept cleanly off. Another man in mail thrust a blade up through the back of that one's armor. And then another threw that next one aside, slamming him hard into a wall. A slender young cook suddenly leapt upon another man, stabbing her slim fist almost clean through a man's skull. She took a blade to the stomach a moment later … and then threw the wounded guard who had done it clear across the hall.

Bodies were starting to fall … everywhere. Some of them began shriveling up were they lay, skin crawling and receding until it was pale and gray and hairless. Others did not change at all. But that hardly stopped them from falling as well.

Evelyn stood their, eyes wide and mouth agape with the horror of it all. But it didn't last long. A servant was suddenly leaping for her throat. She ducked beneath the blow, and then Minsc was there, both of the man's arms held tightly in his own and stayed from their mark. The two bared their teeth at each other, and it actually took the Rashemi a few moments to subdue the much smaller man. He did, though.

"Eve!"

Evelyn looked where her best friend was pointing. There was a flash of black robes as a man took down another guard at the end of the hallway. The armored man flew clear off his feet. And then it was gone.

Imoen didn't wait for her. The pink-haired woman was suddenly bounding forward down the hallway after that receding form, leaving her best friend to hurry after. Dynaheir and Minsc were only slightly less swift on her heels. The giant Rashemi was forcing another murderous maidservant aside.

"Imoen!"

People were still fighting all over … and it was all Evelyn could do to avoid a few of those blades cast her way, accidentally or otherwise. Minsc was right behind her, though, and for every one she leapt beneath, he took it with his own giant sword, forcing guards and servants aside. A few of them leapt at the Rashemi, but they only made it so far before they lost more flesh than they could still manage without. She could feel heat flaring at her back too as the witch shouted aloud. But that didn't matter. Her best friend was getting away.

A fist took her in the side. She slammed one right back into someone's face. A blade swept in for her skull. She twisted around and sent a boot flying for his. Another two men went down in a brawl, rolling beneath her feet. She leapt over them without a moment's pause. All the while, the pink-haired woman somehow managed to just run right through it all.

They were at the stairwell. Imoen was already flying down the pristine steps. Zorl must have been somewhere below. The raven-haired woman hardly wasted another moment before leaping down after them.

And then they were suddenly back where they had begun.

Imoen had come up fast. Evelyn came up short beside her, boots squeaking loudly on marble. She could hear Dynaheir shouting at Minsc somewhere behind. The giant Rashemi suddenly roared. But that was not what she cared about just then.

Zorl was facing them from across the alabaster landscape with its red carpets. And they were made all the more colorful by the crimson mess that had been loosed down upon them. The guards down there were already dead. Only four armed men and the bearded merchant stood facing them. And two young women, claws aside, hardly seemed to daunt any of them.

The bearded man clicked his tongue. The smile on his face hardly looked pleased at all.

"Just look at the mess that you have made in coming here …" He gestured impatiently about with an arm. "If you only _knew_ how much trouble it would be to have all of this cleaned up and kept from the Fist." He shook his head. "But I am afraid a goodly part of cleaning up that mess will be dealing with you, my young friends. You should never have come here."

Evelyn's eyes flashed quickly from first one armed man to another. She had already realized that very same thing some time ago. And she somehow doubted that there was much chance of getting any information out of the bearded merchant then. His eyes were unflappably calm … but she could almost _feel_ the anger and the hatred burning deep there within. She was sure it was already far too late to just ask politely to leave.

"We have a business here to maintain," the robed man continued, "even if it isn't for very long. Please … do try not to make any more of a mess than is absolutely necessary. These carpets will take forever to clean …"

There were footsteps behind her; she could hear them pounding down the steps. The four guards were striding forward, blades bared and raised toward them. She didn't turn to look. She clutched both the Kara-Turian blade and Fuller's dagger firmly in each hand. Imoen reeled back beside her. She just hoped Ajantis had been right about how good she had proved to be …

But she didn't get a chance to find out.

Three men suddenly tore past her from behind, howling aloud as they barreled into the four guards advancing on the two women. Steel was clashing everywhere then, and all seven armored men began brawling all over the pristine marble and crimson carpets. Evelyn only stood staring in surprise. She could hardly tell just who was who. At least they seemed to know.

She was spinning back around. She briefly caught sight of Minsc leaping down the steps and roaring as he threw himself into the fray as well. But it was not he who she was staring at then. Instead, it was the man in his dirty, gilded armor dragging himself leadenly down the stairs.

Aldeth Sashenstar was hardly anymore sober than before, but a sword hung at his side in his hand. He was dropping his feet down one at a time, haltingly descending down to the vast entry chamber below. A bottle dangled from his other hand.

"You _miserable_ _ape_!" someone snarled loudly back from behind. Evelyn rounded back about only to see Zorl's face twisting in blind rage. He was all but foaming at the mouth as he glared up at the drunken man then.

"Stupid _fool_!"

The black-robed man was moving. Even as he did so, Evelyn could only stare as his face _kept_ twisting. The skin began to crawl even as she watched. Imoen had gone still beside her.

Some of the guards were still fighting. The bearded merchant tossed them roughly aside. He passed right through. Evelyn and Imoen were before him then. He had shrunken down, now barely taller than either of the two women. He snatched each by the collar, too fast for them to stop. He threw them bodily away.

"Everything would have gone simply if only you had just _died_!"

The bearded man was ascending the steps toward the other. He didn't have a beard anymore.

Dynaheir was standing beside Aldeth. She muttered something, and fire leapt toward the ascending man. It burned away black robes at his side, revealing pale, gaunt, and gray flesh over jutting bones beneath. But the thing hardly slowed.

Minsc was bellowing loudly as he leapt at the thing from behind. There was no hair upon either's head now. But the thing ducked beneath the other's sword easily. It came back up swiftly, shoving a bony gray fist into the Rashemi's chest. The man toppled over and tumbled back down the steps behind. His tattoed head struck hard on the marble floor.

Evelyn was back on her feet – just in time to see more fire burn away some of the thing's flesh. And then it had Dynaheir's throat in its long, skeletal hand.

For a moment, Evelyn froze. One thin arm held the Rashemi witch aloft, the thing growling there as it glared deep into the other's dark eyes. For a moment those black eyes actually filled with fear as she clutched desperately at the thing's pale, wiry flesh. They went wide … and Evelyn could almost see the thing's thin lips curling at the side of its gaunt face.

She started to move … but it was too late. That sinewy arm swung wide, and Dynaheir was hurtling through the air, violet robes and all. She hit carpeted marble a dozen feet away and below, tumbling over, and then lay still.

"Thisss problem will be easssily fikssed _now_, foolissh _meat_!"

The thing was bearing down on Aldeth. Evelyn came back around, eyes wide. He was all alone on the steps. But he still had that sword in hand. He thrust it hastily toward the other.

The thing that used to be Zorl twisted aside from the blade easily … as if it were nothing. It snatched the man's wrist in its bony hand, and Aldeth toppled over and back down to the steps behind, eyes wide. Bone snapped, and the drunken man cried out. The sword tumbled free from useless fingers.

Aldeth was in the air in the next moment, held up high by skeletal claws tightening around his paling throat. The man started kicking wildly.

Evelyn could almost hear his neck start to crack. She was leaping up the stairs. But something hissed past her head. She stopped dead in her tracks, stumbling aside in surprise.

A knife bloomed in the thing's back, stabbing through tattered robes. It shuddered, losing its grip on the drunken merchant. The man tumbled down to the marble steps below. And then it rounded back on the others.

Imoen was standing there at the bottom of the steps. She was staring at the thing above in horror as it fixed on her then. It was the first they had seen of its face – a bony, twisted, and skeletal expanse of bloody rage and violent hatred both. It took a step down towards her, face twisting even more. There was no doubt just what it meant to do to the other then.

Glass suddenly shattered. The thing came to an abrupt halt as shards sliced into its bony skull. It started to round back on Aldeth, the broken remnants of a bottle falling free from his hand. And then there was only steel in that one good hand.

The drunken man thrust forward. The thing took it through the gut, hissing in surprise. It glared at the other man, snarling then and throwing its bony arms wide to take him. It hauled Aldeth back roughly to his feet. But then the blade slid free, swung wide around, and swept cleanly through the other's head. It came away at the neck.

There was silence. And the only sound was that of the bony creature's body crumpling down to the marble steps. Tattered robes flapped loudly as it tumbled down to the floor below.

Only one of the guards had gotten back to his feet, that one cradling his arm but hardly making a move to attack anyone else. Aldeth paid him no mind. He paid _no_ _one_ any mind just then. Instead he just let himself drop back down on the steps behind, pawing with his one good hand at his belt.

He pulled free a small metal flask, forced it to his lips … and drank.

For once, Evelyn could hardly have blamed him.


	55. Chapter 5 The Last Sun

_**The Last Sun**_

As Evelyn watched … the Seven Suns burned.

It was dark out. She had only half expected the others to be there waiting for her. But when she saw those roaring flames … that blaze engulfing the entire building hungrily in the early dusk … swallowing it in black smoke …

She felt her legs give way beneath her.

Imoen caught her. But her best friend only spared her a worried glance. It was hard to peel her eyes away from that inferno blazing before them.

"Oh, Eve …"

The other woman's fingers were like talons there on her arm. She didn't feel it.

Flaming Fist soldiers were everywhere. And so were people. They were lining the streets, gawking at the fire that was quickly consuming the building that had been the Seven Suns. Evelyn didn't see them.

A line of plated men and some others were trying desperately to fling buckets of water on the blaze. But it was doing little good. Those flames roared almost as loud as the soldiers bellowing about at the crowds and each other both. Ashes filled the air. She started to gag.

If she squinted hard enough, she thought she could just begin to make out the two charred corpses she knew would be somewhere there in those hellish flames. They seemed to crack loudly from across the street in response. But her eyes were blurring over all too quickly with tears. And all she could see in that moment … was the last of whatever she had had left after Gorion, burning away to ash.

She tore away from Imoen, letting herself fall down to her knees. She started retching there down on the cobbles.

The other let her go, finally looking away from the blaze and down toward her best friend. Her face had twisted in dismay, but was smoothing over some then. She put a trembling hand to the raven-haired woman's back, rubbing as Evelyn loosed whatever remained in her stomach out to the street.

Those moments kept replaying themselves over and over in her mind as she choked and gagged. She didn't see anything of it anymore. All she saw was _her_ …turning her back on the Seven Suns with Aldeth Sashenstar … turning her back on Jaheira and Khalid … turning her back on the her father's last two friends, and two of the only one's she had left in that world …

She suddenly heaved twice as hard. And then she was empty.

There was nothing left.

"Eve …"

She started at the sound of her best friend's voice. She had almost forgotten her. The other woman was kneeling down there at her side, looking anxiously away.

"We'd better go …"

Evelyn's eyes snapped up at the other, glaring as balefully as they could into her pale flesh. But the pink-haired woman only frowned over ruefully at her best friend in turn, trying to pull her back up. There were tears in her eyes too.

She was right. Evelyn suddenly realized that then, stifling another sob. Some of those people on the street had begun to notice them. Some of the Flaming _Fist_ had begun to notice them. And no matter what their involvement with Commander Scar might be, she doubted that it would have helped them any to seem so suspicious as to be caught just then. The burning of a goodly source of the city's trade and income would not have sat well with any of them. And it certainly didn't seem as if anyone knew just how the fire had started yet.

But she knew. Oh _gods_, but she knew …

With an effort … she started to pull herself back together. It was all that she could do.

Minsc was standing behind them, silent as a ghost as he stared into the flames ahead. Evelyn rounded back on him … and the unconscious woman draped loosely over his shoulder. It might have been that sight, as much as her, that was drawing attention then.

Dynaheir had all but cracked her skull open from the blow she took after that thing had thrown her halfway across the room to hard marble below. A Doppleganger, Evelyn remembered the other woman calling it. Though, she had hardly gotten a chance to ask the woman just what that was. She supposed she already knew. And Minsc had fared little better. His tattooed head was bleeding from the side, trailing red down the side of his face. It made him seem all the fiercer just then … but Evelyn knew how weak the man must really have been. Still, he had not hesitated before slinging the witch across his back and carrying her swiftly from that bloody place.

Aldeth Sashenstar had not given them any word of thanks after the incident in the Merchant's League. He had still been far too much in shock to even speak; only sparing enough attention to suck down more of what had filled that metal flask at his waist. And they had hardly given him any chance. With Zorl dead, they had lost whatever information they might have gained of the whole bloody affair. They had fled promptly after that.

The blaze howled at them once more. It was just one more reason why she had been such a fool that day. Such a fool …

And now Jaheira and Khalid were dead because of her … because she had not cared to stay and be there when they had needed help. She should have been there to help. She should have _been_ there …

But it was too late now. It was far … far too late. And it was an effort not to break down there on the street once more. Gods, but it _was_ …

But the Rashemi needed help. And if they stayed there any longer … there might just be two more dead on her account. What was worse than leaving Jaheira and Khalid to die … was taking the Rashemi away as well. They had nearly been killed because of her foolishness. She could just remember _ordering_ them to do it too … it played over and over in her mind …

She scrubbed angrily at her eyes, tearing at them as if somehow that might banish all the images from her head. But it wouldn't. She knew. She tried not to look so hopeless when she faced Minsc behind her then.

"Come on," she managed. Her face contorted briefly, but she managed to keep herself from crying any more. The giant Rashemi fixed down on her.

"We must find help for Minsc's witch," was all he said. His face was hard beneath the blood. "She is hurt."

Evelyn only nodded, her voice as soft and gentle as she could make it.

"I know."

Without another word she started away. She didn't get very far.

Something snatched at her from the shadows as they passed in front of an alley, and she jumped in surprise. It seemed as if all of her nerves had already been frayed far too much already that day. But her hand came up swiftly in reply, striking hard at whatever that thing was. A man toppled over into the gloom, scattering garbage there in the dark. She half made as if to leap on him, she half made as if to run away … but then someone else was pushing into view from the other side. She started, but she recognized the fine features of that haggard face all too well.

"Sweetling!" Coran warned her, raising a hand. "It's us."

It took another moment, but she could just make out Ajantis there on the ground. The Elf thrust a hand down toward him, helping the man back to his feet. The knight's eyes were hard on her then, and she wasn't sure if it was for hitting him … or just what he knew she had done.

"Where have you been?" Coran demanded quickly, pulling her into the alley and out of sight. He cast a wary eye back out to the streets as Imoen and Minsc followed. "What did you find?"

But Evelyn did not answer him.

"You should never have left," was all the knight said to one side. Evelyn spared him a glance … but she didn't have even half the heart to give him a harsh reply in turn. He was right. Oh, but he was right … That should have been enough … "Taking fool's gold," she thought she heard him mutter at the last.

"They're hurt."

Her voice sounded feeble, even in her own ears. Coran glanced past her toward the two Rashemi beyond. Imoen, at least, had been spared any harm.

The Elf only nodded.

"We'll get them back to the inn."

Evelyn could hardly have done anything else but follow, as they moved swiftly away. She had already done enough. She had done so … so … _very _much …

She just wished so desperately that she could have learned better.

It almost didn't matter.

* * *

"Dopplegangers? That certainly does not bode well."

Evelyn kept her eyes to the ground. She dared not look up unless she absolutely had to. There was already far too much death in that room for her to stand. She was not the only one.

There was silence for a few moments. She could hardly have believed it. She almost expected it to continue forever. She almost jumped in surprise when the other started speaking once more.

"We found them too."

She looked up … and her eyes locked briefly with the other woman's. They were still as hard as they had been before. But then it ended. And the woman was turning back down toward the still form lying upon its bed beneath her. The giant Rashemi hardly stirred to one side. His face was like stone.

"They w-would not d-d-do such a thing on their own."

"Yes." The woman suddenly looked over toward her husband where he stood some paces away. She shook her head. "Dopplegangers are self-serving. They would not be so motivated … _except_ by someone else."

She gave her husband a pointed look. The other only nodded in turn.

And then she turned it on Evelyn. She nearly choked as her mouth went dry.

It was an effort to nod her head toward the druid as well.

There was something wrong with her. Of that, she was sure. Somehow, she couldn't help seeing ghosts. Her skin was still as pale as it had been when she had first blanched at the sight of that other woman … waiting at her room inside the inn, both her husband and her as well as if they had never died at all. But they had. For a moment … they had. And she felt as cold as ice. It could have snowed there deep down inside of her. She had frozen over.

Whatever had happened inside of the Seven Suns … Jaheira and Khalid had escaped. And except for looking rather angry with the younger woman for fleeing after some drunken merchant … they had seemed none the worse for wear. There was no charred flesh. There were no ashes. There weren't even any _burns_ … There was barely a scratch on them.

The line of red over Khalid's brow only seemed to mock her from where he stood. She swallowed hard in her throat.

They had found Jhasso. After a long, fierce scolding … the other woman had told her that. The owner of the Seven Suns had been bound and imprisoned in his own basement. It had not been long after they had managed to find him that they had found out just what had been happening there in the merchant building. Scar's worries had been well founded indeed. And when they had tried to force their way back out of the building with the real Jhasso in tow … the merchants had attacked. But they had no more been merchants than either Zorl or Irlentree in the Merchant's Constortium had been. It had all been a ruse. It had _all_ been a lie.

She had barely heard the other woman's furious words as she had tried so desperately to beat her own foolishness back into her brow. When she had first seen the woman … when she had first been sure that the other was not some cruel trick and was actually _alive_ … She had just wanted to throw her arms around the druid and squeeze her as tightly as she could … until she was sure that the other woman was real …

But she hadn't. She dared not. She might have broken her if she did. There was no telling just what new horror she might have caused had she let herself get too close to them … again.

It was like a nightmare. Or maybe it was a beautiful dream there _amidst_ the nightmares. She didn't know anymore. She didn't _want_ to know anymore. She knew just what she had to do.

"Commander Scar will want to know of this," Jaheira was suddenly saying. It snapped Evelyn back out of her thoughts. "If he does not _already_ know," she muttered loudly to herself after a moment. "We have two days more until we meet him. And then, perhaps, he will finally help us to deal with the true menace behind all of this after all."

The woman's face twisted as she spoke. But Evelyn didn't hear her mocking tone. _Two days_ … She glanced toward the two Rashemi, the one quiet and still as the druid worked a splint along her arm. She had broken no few bones.

No, no … that was far too long to wait …

"But perhaps we might learn something ourselves in that time," the other continued. "I would not put it past merchants to undermine their own competition … but to use Dopplegangers to murder them?" She shook her head, pulling gauze tight. "I think there is something far worse in the minds of the Iron Throne than merely manipulating the trade of the Sword Coast …"

But Evelyn wasn't listening. The woman continued on, musing aloud. But she didn't hear any of it. Instead she was staring at Dynaheir lying there upon the bed, Minsc beside her. They had nearly died … She glanced toward Jaheira and Khalid then as well … _Them too_ …

She already knew what she had to do. Two days would have been far … far too long to wait.

"… If nothing else, they have certainly shed their share of blood to get it … We owe them much for some of that blood …"

Khalid canted his head to one side. It made Evelyn start in surprise.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

_Two days_ …

"… dangerous now. We had best be on our guard …"

Those two burning corpses …

"… I think it best …"

No.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open. All sound seemed to come back in a rush. The druid was frowning at her.

"Evelyn … are you all right?"

They were both staring at her. Minsc too. She looked from one to the other. It was hard to see anything but blackened bones and ashes.

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't say anything. She didn't speak to any of them. Instead she just turned around … and left. She was vaguely aware of Jaheira's voice calling after her, but she didn't hear it. It was too late for them. They had already done too much. She had hurt them enough.

It was time for it to end.

And with that … she suddenly felt almost whole once more.

She knew what she had to do. She had always known.

* * *

She stood, and she stared.

The room was empty. She had done little in her brief stay there except to dirty the bed by sleeping in her clothes. There was mud caking the sheets from her boots, and she could see blood there too. But it didn't matter. It wasn't the first time she had left a bedroom full of blood. And she wasn't going to be there much longer.

The ashwood staff was in her hands. She was cradling it, a finger sliding slowly across its length. No matter what had happened or what she had done with it in the past many weeks … it had stayed smooth. That much could hardly have been said for other things. Only the etchings in the side jarred against her touch, but even those were softly rounded. They were just one more reminder of what she had to do …

Gorion's dagger came next. She tucked it into her belt next to Fuller's at her side. She could not have left without that. It was meant to be there in her hands at the end. She would drive it right through his heart … Just like he had driven that black blade through her father's … just like he had driven that blackness into hers. She slung the Kara-Turian sword over as well for good measure.

She hesitated at that. For a moment, it actually gave her pause. She wondered if she really had any right to use Ajantis' gift after all that she had done. But, she supposed, she really hadn't done what she had thought she had earlier at least. She had not killed Jaheira and Khalid. The druid had sent the other two back to wait for them. But she might as well have killed them. It had broken her enough inside already.

Still … it had been a gift. And she would put it to good use.

She had already warned Yeslick; he was waiting for her outside the inn. She had almost thought to say something to Imoen as well – the other woman deserved a parting word at least. She had been her best friend right up until the end. And Evelyn hardly knew just what she might have done without the other. Died long ago … of that, she was sure …

She sighed.

She could only hope that some of the pain and suffering that she had put her friend through since Gorion's death might fade over time. Imoen deserved that much at least. Evelyn knew well enough that her own never would. But she wasn't going to give it that chance anyways. So it didn't matter. But no one deserved to be happy again more than Imoen. No one.

She buttoned up the lavender coat, hiding the blades beneath it somewhat. It had been a little big on her at least. And it would hardly have done to be seen parading through the streets of Baldur's Gate armed to the teeth as she was. Even at night. She would get to them easily enough when it was time.

Her pack came up; she slipped the ashwood staff through a loop across and fastened it tight. She slung it over her shoulders and threw her cloak over everything. She didn't have any food, but she didn't bother to pack any either. She wouldn't need it.

And then she stopped … and just stood there again for a moment. She glanced around the room once more, her back to the door. Her face twisted just a little as she winced. But it was hardly that room that she was sorry to leave. She knew that. Too bad it was the only thing that she could do. It _was_ … And she would never see them again. She would never see _any_ of them again …

Her eyes squeezed shut briefly, but she bit back any tears that might have come. She couldn't afford them just then. Still … turning away from that room was like turning away from all of them. Imoen … Jaheira, Khalid … even Coran … It was like turning away from Gorion all over again.

But she would do it. She had to. There was nothing else she_ could_ do. She was just so tired of hurting everyone. They would all be much happier without her … She knew that.

And, eventually …

She did it.

It almost felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders with that simple act. It was as hard as it had been that night so long ago … but she had done it. And this time … no one was going to die because she had.

But as she rounded on the door … she abruptly came up short. She had almost smiled at the relief she had so suddenly felt just then. It was still cold. But it did not last long. She recognized the Elf standing in front of her all too quickly.

Xan was staring at her. She hardly knew just how long he had been doing so. The door was closed behind him, but she had never heard it open in the first place. He should never have _been_ there in the first place. The grim smile slid quickly off her face. But he was hardly the first ghost she had seen that day.

He watched her … and said nothing. He just stood there, his deep brown eyes cool, and almost calm. The creases in his smooth face almost seemed as if they had been worn there permanently within. But he said nothing. He just watched.

He was in her way. She didn't want to speak to him. She _couldn't_ speak to him. But he was in her way. She didn't know why. She almost didn't _care_. But he was not moving.

Finally … she opened her mouth.

"I thought you left."

Her voice was cold. She felt cold. But it was necessary. She had already let herself feel far too much that day already. She had already felt far too much since Gorion had died. It had never done anything but slow her down.

She cringed inward at that mistake just the same. It was necessary. But his voice came soon after.

"I did," he uttered simply, just loud enough for her to hear. "I had." There was little reason to be so quiet, though. They were alone. And the door was shut.

She stared at him, raising her brow. That was not what it looked like to her. But she hardly cared what new words he might try to turn on her just then. There was somewhere she needed to be. And he was in her way.

He suddenly shook his head, almost seeming to come back to life as he made sounds and began to move. He kept his eyes fixed intently upon her, and his voice was steady. "I had gone. I was beyond the gates … and back on the bridge. But it was too late," he said slowly. "_I_ was too late. It was the wrong way."

He was quiet again. She waited. But he took too long, and she had something to do. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked softly.

She snapped her jaw back shut. She didn't answer him. She didn't dare tell him just what she meant to do. He would try to stop her, she was sure. And she didn't want to have to keep him from doing it.

She just stared right back.

He only nodded his head after another moment, though. Somehow, he seemed to read her thoughts. "I could have expected as much." Hopefully, it had not been much.

She cocked her head to one side, waiting for him to say something more. But he didn't. And then they were just standing there in silence once again. Eventually, she grew tired of it.

She started to push her way past him, reaching for the door. She didn't have time to worry about what new torments the Elf was putting himself through because of her, or why he had come back. She could only take fault for so much. And she could hardly have waited besides. If she stayed there too long …

But before she could take the latch in her hand, he had laid a hand on her arm. He pulled her back around to face him.

She didn't look at him. She didn't say anything. She just ground her teeth impatiently.

He started anew.

"Do you hate me, Evelyn?" he asked simply. His face was mere inches from hers. It was all she could do not to push him away.

But she shook her head.

"No."

She almost bit the word.

She didn't hate him. She didn't hate _any_ of them. If there was anyone she _did_ hate … it was the man who had caused all of that to happen in the first place. And herself … for letting it happen. There was no one else _to_ hate. The other only frowned down at her.

"You should," he told her. "It would be better if you did."

She looked up at him then. And her face was smooth as she did so. Her voice was like ice.

"What do you want, Xan?"

He should have just left. She could all but _feel_ how tense and anxious he was just standing there so close to her, even if he kept it from his face. She wondered why he did it at all. He should have just _left_ and saved himself the effort and torment of it all. It would have been better if he had. He seemed to lament it enough already.

But he took her face in both his hands of a sudden, pulling her up toward him and forcing her to meet his gaze. She didn't struggle. She didn't try to pull away at all. She just sat there in his grasp, her eyes cool and her jaw tight as she stared up at him … waiting. He tried searching those eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at him. _She_ was like ice. But he just let her go after a few moments, pulling back. He shook his head.

"It is too late now," he muttered. He tore his eyes away. "You are too late …"

He stepped away from her, and she frowned at him. She hardly knew just what that was supposed to mean. Maybe he didn't like what he found. But it didn't matter. Yeslick would be waiting. He needed revenge as much as she.

"I still have my duty, Evelyn," the Elf was saying to her, turning back. But she was already at the door.

She hesitated for just a moment. But then it was gone. She nodded her head.

"I know." She glanced back over her shoulder. The latch was in her hand. "Just wait."

She was closing it back behind her quietly. She didn't waste a moment more before hurrying away.

* * *

"What took ye so long, lass?"

Evelyn stopped just outside the Elfsong Tavern, shadows quickly falling around her though light bled out from the broad windows behind. She turned toward the Dwarf as he shuffled out from the darkness beside.

"Are you ready?" was all she asked. The little man grumbled something that she lost in his beard, but he tugged at the hammer hung through the loop at his belt, canting his head.

"Aye."

She opened her mouth only to hear footsteps crunching on the stone leading up from the street. Her eyes flashed hastily toward five robed forms striding toward them then, her hand straying toward the daggers at her waist. It had been difficult enough making her way quickly and quietly out from the inn. She was hardly about to be caught there. But she didn't know any of them. She realized that quickly enough.

One of them paused. It was giving her a hard eye from beneath its hood, she was sure. She just glared right back, clenching steel tight. But it made no move towards her, and neither did the others. After another moment, they were pushing past.

"Out of our way, girl."

They didn't even see the Dwarf there at her side.

Evelyn stared after them as they continued on into the inn, giving neither her nor Yeslick any further notice. She could just make out the red hems in the dark. Eventually, though, she forced herself to turn away.

There were five of them … not one. And she could have sworn that there were two women with them as well. It was nothing.

She glanced back down toward the Dwarf. He was waiting there anxiously, hand fingering the haft of his hammer. She still had a firm grip on Fuller's dagger as well. But she took a deep breath.

"Let's go."


	56. Chapter 5 The Eye of the Storm

_**The Eye of the Storm**_

"Are ye sure about this, lass?"

Evelyn stared down the gaping hole beneath her into blackness. She remembered that unending void. For a moment, memory clawed at her with icy talons, threatening her there behind the walls that she had built up so well. This time, though … she had Yeslick. And a torch.

There was nothing crawling down there in the darkness. But there were a good many dark things crawling through where she meant to go, she was sure. That sewer was not it.

She glanced over toward the Dwarf. He was watching her.

She nodded her head.

Without another word, she was swinging herself over and down into the hole, letting herself slip into the dark. But her foot caught the rungs of a ladder below. She knew it would be there this time. She started to climb down.

Her boots eventually struck dingy stone, and she was standing in pitch black once more. She could almost have expected to hear scrabbling along the stone … she held her breath for a moment as if she would … but all she could hear was the Dwarf grunting above her as he made his way down after. In another moment, he was striking something in the dark, and the torch was alighting in the gloom. She blinked, shielding her eyes against the sudden bright. She forced her sudden relief bodily away.

They were in a tunnel – it stretched on to either side of them until it faded away into shadow. There was another passage leading away across from them, a dark and fetid pool of something chugging along between. She tried to ignore the smell. It was the least of her worries, and she just wanted to get through there quickly. Someone was waiting for her.

She turned right – that was what Scar had told them to do. They had gone to the Flaming Fist compound swiftly after departing the inn, the raven-haired woman intent upon finding the commander and seeing just what information he would have for them. She had been lucky. The man had managed to find them a way into the Iron Throne.

The Flaming Fist had been up in arms about the burning of the Seven Suns. They had been swarming the city in droves trying to locate those responsible and control an outbreak of violence on the street as a result both. She had barely caught the bearded man before he had been summoned from the compound on emergency once more … something to do with the Wide. But he had postponed his lieutenant's urgent summons when he had caught sight of Evelyn. He had recognized her at least.

She started her way up along the tunnel, keeping close to the sides and away from whatever it was that ran along within that rivulet between. She kept her footfalls as quiet as could be too, picking her way carefully along. The Dwarf was somewhat less discreet behind her. She didn't dare say anything to him, though. Had he not wanted vengeance on Rieltar as much as she on his son, she would not have brought him along. But he did, and he cared no more than she did just what price he had to pay to get it. She could not have asked that same price of the others. She _would_ not.

Scar had given them hasty directions. He had been somewhat preoccupied with the commotion brewing in the city, but instead of being clapped in irons when she told him of their involvement he had only assured her that he had already known. Jaheira and Khalid had released Jhasso soon after escaping with him, and it had been_ then_ that the fire had begun. Though he hardly cared for the outcome, he was quick to say that they could not have been blamed. Whatever had been going on in the Seven Suns, someone had seemed very intent upon destroying the evidence, so he said. But he knew just who was responsible. And, fortunately, for her, he had not been hesitant in revealing a secret entrance into their building that he had discovered. Or so he said. Somehow, she began to wonder if he had known of it all along. But there had hardly been time to ask. And it didn't matter to her then.

The tunnel ended soon enough. And then they found themselves in some sort of sewer hub. Arched tunnels fed their rank filth into it from every direction, but she knew just which one would take them where they needed to go. She started moving swiftly around the dark pool in the middle of the chamber toward her right.

_One … two … three …_

She counted the tunnels as she passed.

_Four._

And she came to a halt, staring down the passage before her. It was as dark as the others. But Yeslick was pressing the torch past her quickly.

"Doesn' look like much," he grumbled through his braided beard, peering ahead into the fire-lit gloom. She wondered why that mattered. He looked to her briefly. "Are ye sure about this?"

"Yes."

He shrugged, turning back.

"Just seems ta me like bringin' the others coulda done no harm. A few more eyes watchin' our backs couldna hurt either. There'll be plenty in there for everyone."

But she just shook her head.

"No. There are only two. One for me … and one for you."

He frowned at that. But she could see his fist clenching around the haft of the hammer at his side nonetheless.

"They'll have a harder time catching just the two of us."

And he nodded his head.

"I suppose ye be right about that at least, lass."

She sighed softly.

Jaheira would be furious with her – that much was for sure. And Imoen would be too. But she hefted her pack, remembering the lack of burden there. She had left her best friend Coran's gift, at least – the only thing she had left behind. It was enough for her to buy her way back into Candlekeep … It was enough to give her friend her life back. And it was the least that Evelyn could do … for stealing it away from her in the first place.

She took a deep breath.

And then she started forward.

It wasn't long before they came to a dead end.

The tunnel walls abruptly stopped, flattened out, and pressed together. She was staring at a grimy surface of stone, covered in what she _assumed_ were overgrown vines breaking through the rock of the passage ceiling above. For a moment she thought she had counted wrong, or even that Scar had given them the wrong directions. Panic started to worm its way back into her skull, but she made for the central hub again, still sure she could find the way. Yeslick snatched at her arm as she tried to pass, though, and brought her back around.

"Wait, lass."

He pushed forward, muttering something about "shoddy stonework." And then he snatched at some of those vines, tearing them free from the wall. She stared for a moment as he stood there, and then brought the torch up. She could just make out the spokes of what looked like a wheel handle for a door.

"Here."

Yeslick was mumbling to himself as she started to turn that latch. Evelyn only caught something about Clangeddin. She thought she knew that one. He was the Dwarf god of battle or something. And then the stocky little man's hand was reaching out toward her.

"Just a blessing, lass," he explained at her frown. It had been more for the sudden feeling that had washed over her at the gesture. "May the Father o' Battle see us to victory this day."

It was night, but she wasn't about to argue. She turned the handle. And then the door was pulling back and open.

Light spilled in around them. It was dim, but that didn't stop Yeslick from casting the torch into the fetid water behind. Evelyn hardly hesitated before ducking into the room beyond.

It was the basement of the Iron Throne building. Scar had told them of that hidden passage in the sewers. Apparently there was some kind of establishment down there beneath the city close by that the merchants liked to frequent. But he was all to ready to admit that it would have been a terribly convenient way to sneak things into the compound. Fortunately, for them, it was supposed to be well hidden and thus seldom guarded. It surprised her, then, when she crept forward … only to find herself face to face with a guard.

The man stared at them for a moment, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Who the devil are _you_?"

He had a hand down and pulling on the hilt of the blade at his side in an instant. He didn't even bother to wait for her to answer. And she didn't bother to wait for him either. A boot took him hard in the chest and off his feet in the next moment.

The ashwood staff was in her hands then, even as the man squirmed there on the floor. He had managed to pull his sword free, and it was dragging down at his side. But it did him little good as he threw himself back to his feet before her. Wrist, skull, legs, and he was down again. He did not stir.

Yeslick came up quickly at her side, hammer in hand. He took one look down at the man on the floor, however, and was pushing instantly past.

"Come on, lass!"

Aisles of huge barrels stretched out along to either side, and she hurried along behind the Dwarf ahead and around them. There were crates and sacks and shelves everywhere. It was a storage room all right. But it was the furthest from their goal. The other shuffled on swiftly ahead.

There was a flight of stairs. Yeslick moved up them as quickly as his short legs would carry him, Evelyn darting up as silently as she could behind. As they reached the top, the other came up short.

Evelyn kept moving up toward the landing, but the Dwarf forced her back with a hand.

"Easy, lass."

There were voices coming from the room above. After another moment, Yeslick was poking his bearded head up to the railed landing to see. Evelyn joined him quickly enough.

The chamber above was big – huge. Exquisite turquoise marble stretched away forever toward twin flights of steps flying up to the levels above. She could actually _see_ those floors above, sprawling like balconies around a carved chasm rising up through the center of the building. At its base was a large iron crest melded into the bottom floor, that opening seeming almost to serve no other purpose than to let whoever might be marching overhead to gaze down at what she took for the emblem of the Iron Throne itself. Candles in elaborate sconces, carpets, rich plush chairs, divans, and couches … that place was fit for royalty she was sure. It did nothing so much as serve to awe and impress. It made her feel insignificant just crouching there on the stone steps. But they hardly had time to gawk.

There was almost no one in that magnificent chamber – only a couple balding men that she took for merchants chatting idly on a few of those gilded chairs across the room. There were a handful of guards as well, standing diligently at the doors and the marble stairways in their stout leathers with blades at their sides. That was all she needed to see.

She didn't let the Dwarf stop her this time as she leapt soundlessly up the steps, darting toward one of the many greenish-blue stone columns that dotted the room. There were statues embedded in each, gazing out in their silent vigil upon the vaulted chamber about. Yeslick was shambling toward her in another moment.

Evelyn cast her eyes about the pillar. No one had seen them. The Dwarf gave a wary eye about as well, and then he gestured curtly toward the other side of the room.

"He'll be upstairs."

She had already guessed as much, but she nodded her head nonetheless. And then she was peering around the column the other way. Only the two guards at the stairs were in their way.

"Alright," she breathed, starting to round back on the other. But then she blinked, and froze. A man was trudging down the stairs.

After a moment, she didn't recognize the pudgy man, wrinkling a felt cap between his hands as he hurried down to the marble floor below. He started quickly away once he reached the bottom, mumbling to himself as he strode briskly along toward the iron crest. The two guards were whispering something to each other.

"'Ey," one of them called out abruptly, canting his head after the pudgy man, "Triadore! What's the hurry, aye? Got somewhere better yer fat arse needs to be?"

The man dropped his cap as he came to a sudden halt. He swooped down quickly to pick it up, rounding back hastily on the two guards. "Yes … yes, my good lads! Just … just taking my leave for a mite bit of fresh air … Perhaps a stop at the nearest tavern …"

"Oy! Is that right?" The one guard ambled forward, closing in on the pudgy man, Triadore. He, in turn, stood his ground, and as the man reached him, he looked up with a smooth face at the other. "Now just what ain't so _fresh_ about our air in here, Triadore?"

The guard was bearing down on the fat man. Evelyn could see him sweating even from where she hid.

Triadore was trying to stammer out a reply for the guard, but the man was only inches from the other, one hand on the sword at his side. "Ye know well that there be wine enough in the cellars fer all. And Sarevok's orders be clear, aye? No leavin' the premises until Thaldorn knows just what gone wrong with the Seven Suns. I'll have one o' the boys fetch ye somethin' good."

The guard glanced away toward his companion near the stairs, the other sporting a small grin. But the pudgy man was shaking his head in an instant.

"No … no, that'll be fine, lads. Thank you." He nodded his head. And then he placed that cap there atop it. "I'm certain Thaldorn will not be missing one lonely merchant from the ranks just now." He started to turn away, but Evelyn had already forgotten them. At the mention of Sarevok, she felt her blood suddenly start pounding hard in her veins.

"Come on," she hissed down at the Dwarf beside her. And then she was crouching down and darting along ahead anew.

"'Ey, bloody fool! Did ye hear what I jus' said?"

Evelyn hardly slowed as she saw the fat merchant doing just that, coming around as the guard closed on him swiftly again. Steel sounded suddenly then, and she all but leapt for the next set of pillars ahead. As she hauled the Dwarf along hastily after, she glanced back around the marble, catching her breath in her throat.

Triadore stood there, hunched over and gasping. A foot of steel was sticking out of his back. "Ye were warned," was all she heard the guard say. And then he was yanking his blade free of the merchant, and stepping back. The man toppled down to the floor.

The two balding men on the other side of the room had stopped talking, and looked up to the scene ahead. But they did nothing. And the two guards at the door seemed to just ignore it. The man with the bloody blade merely stared down at the fallen man. His companion hurried up to his side.

"They won't be missin' one fat-arsed, blubberin' merchant, aye?"

Evelyn hardly waited to see just what would happen next. She was already darting ahead toward one of those flights of stairs, and up it. The Dwarf was swift on her heels.

"Bloody bastards," Yeslick was muttering at her side as they both turned as one to look back down the steps behind. No one had seen them, though. She hoped. They started to turn away.

"Where in the bloody Hells do you think you're going?"

Another guard was suddenly staring them down then. Evelyn came up short. But Yeslick had that hammer in hand.

"Upstairs," the Dwarf grunted through his braided beard. "Where do ye think _yer_ goin'?"

The man was snatching at the blade at his side, but the Dwarf just tossed the hammer up at his head. It struck him hard across the face, and he went down.

"Hurry, lass!" Yeslick growled at her, pulling the fallen man's body back into a corner near the stairs and out of sight. He gestured with his bloodied hammer up. She hardly had time to think. She was already flying up the steps.

They paused at the top, Evelyn ducking hastily back down beneath the floor. Another guard was standing just a few paces ahead of them, his back turned as he guarded the next flight of stairs leading up. A fat woman was striding briskly up toward him.

"Evenin', Ma'am," the guard greeted her gruffly, and the woman, in her pale red dress straining over her bulging girth only stiffened where she stood. The bun of silvery brown hair pulling at her face could not have kept her eyes from narrowing then.

"Ma'am this, Ma'am that," the woman gestured irritably, "I have little desire to suffer through more of your flat gentility!" She put a hand on her hip and peered down at the tiny man before her. "Now, you will address me as Emissary Tar, Chief Negotiator for the Grand Dukes … and move out of my way! I am here on important business with your masters, and I will not be kept waiting any longer!"

The guard said nothing for a moment, only glancing back up toward the stairs above. Evelyn could see the small smile that lit his face as he did so, though. He turned back toward the fat woman before him.

"I was just informed that they are ready to see you now, Ma'am – ah, madam _Emissary_ … Chief Negotiator for the Grand Dukes." He gestured with a hand aside toward the steps. "They will be most pleased to finally meet you."

The woman only nodded curtly.

"Hmph. I should think so."

She was pressing past and moving up. Evelyn only waited a few moments. And then the ashwood was striking hard on the back of the guard's skull from behind. They pulled him quickly out of sight.

The fat woman – Emissary Tar – was still making her way up the stairs as they neared behind. Evelyn slowed in her step, creeping along until the hefty woman was finally at the landing and turning away. She was easy enough to hide behind as they continued on. She peered out carefully to the next chamber above.

"Emissary Tar! So good to finally make your acquaintance …"

A man in fine laced and gilded silk was greeting the fat woman. It was some kind of bar set up in the room around them, a few stools pulled up against the far side of the room with several men drinking their fill of wine and ale. A few of them must have been merchants in their fine garb, easily matching that of the man greeting the emissary. But some others were garbed in leathers and mail as well. They had blades at their sides.

"Hmph." The fat woman strode briskly to meet the man in silk. "I suppose your masters have seen fit to finally meet with the representative of the Grand Dukes." She put a fist to her hip. "A shame they think so little of the lords of this city as to keep their agents waiting."

Her tone was clipped, impatient, and chiding all at once. But the man seemed not to notice it. He merely bowed his head towards her.

"My apologies, lady Emissary. I am Aasim, and this is Zhalimar." He gestured toward a hard man in plate beneath a fine coat to his side. That one only canted his head brusquely. "We are both trusted servants of Rieltar Anchev, and we …"

Evelyn hardly cared to hear the rest. She slinked along up and around toward the next flight of steps, wondering just how high that building really went. The Dwarf managed to keep his tread quiet at her side, and he seemed not to try to stop her. Upwards still, at least. As the emissary and those men talked, the two slipped up toward the floor above.

Green marble stretched beneath her feet now. It was some kind of antechamber sprawling before them, couches and chairs tucked up against the corners beneath a row of columns and recently lit lanterns. Banners lined the walls, and so did potted plants. There was even a statue of what looked like one of those pig-faced Hobgolins with horns. She glanced toward the Dwarf beside her.

"Only the roof be next, lass."

He gestured with his hammer toward a narrow flight of stairs carved into the wall away from both stairwells on either side of the room. It was wooden, and enclosed – far less grand than the others leading up.

"Rieltar be here," he grumbled. "Somewhere."

There was a hallway at the other end of the room, and Yeslick hardly wasted a moment before starting toward it. But the sudden sound of voices brought them both up short. There was no one in sight.

Pulling up against the wall and dragging the raven-haired woman behind him, the Dwarf glanced around the corner. After a moment, he turned back to her, grunting. And then he slipped around into the passage.

A few doors dotted the hallway, lanterns in sconces to either side. Evelyn moved slowly behind, hefting her staff in hand. Yeslick had his hammer readied as well, but all of the doors were closed. And they hardly knew just what they would find behind them. Or which might house the men they needed to find. Her blood was already pumping thickly in her veins.

There was a lone door at the end of the hall. They were both closing in on it slowly. Somehow, she was sure, they both knew that that was just where they needed to go. So she was surprised when the door next to them suddenly started to open.

"Oh, and Alai …?"

A man dressed in more fine silks was hanging half in the doorway and half in the hall. He rested a hand on a large halberd hanging on the wall beside. Someone was calling after him from within the room beyond.

"Yes, Master Thaldorn?"

Both men had that same sibilant accent that she had heard briefly on the lips of the man who had been speaking to the emissary below. He hadn't seen Evelyn or the Dwarf.

"Have Zhalimar come see me," the other man continued from within. "I believe he will have seen to our … guest … properly by now."

The half-hidden man only canted his head. And then he turned to leave.

Evelyn had the ashwood staff cracking him hard upon the jaw in an instant. As he started to fall, Yeslick leapt past her catching the man before he could hit the ground. He dropped him quietly to one side.

"Thaldorn be one o' Rieltar's lads," the Dwarf was growling at her, pulling her aside and away from the half-opened door. The now unconscious man had hardly had time to close it. "If anyone knows where that bastard be, it'll be him. Come, lass!"

Evelyn moved swiftly past the Dwarf, though. She slipped through the half-open door, looping the staff behind her back. She pulled Fuller's dagger free instead.

They were in a small dining room, but only a small table with one chair and one man seated at it occupied that space beyond a few shelves lightly stocked with books and scrolls. There was a map pinned up on one of the walls.

The man had his back to them. He was swathed in the same regal clothes as the others, with light leathers draped over his chest. And he was still eating what remained of a meal before him on the table. He had hardly noticed his companion in the hallway being struck down.

She didn't hesitate before leaping across the room and slipping that dagger around the other's neck. She pressed it tight.

The man – Thaldorn – instantly jumped in his seat, but she wrapped her other arm around him, holding him fast. And then she pricked him just a little bit with the knife in her hands. He ceased quickly enough at that.

"Don't move," she told him firmly.

But the man was seething there in her grasp, chest pounding up and down. "Do you know who I am?" he hissed back at her. "I am one of the leaders of the Iron Throne!"

"You just might be able to answer a few questions for me then."

But he just bared his teeth, stretching his neck away from the steel at his throat. "The guards will _gut_ you before can even leave this room! ZHALIM–!"

She dug the knife into his flesh, and he shut up quickly. The door was shutting behind as well then too. The man only stiffened, wincing angrily while he tried to roll his eyes back up to glare at her behind him. "Who are you?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "How did you get in here?"

She didn't answer him. Instead Yeslick was moving around to his other side. The man's eyes followed him the whole way.

"Ye'll be tellin' us where Rieltar and 'is little whelp be hidin' _now_, Thaldorn," the Dwarf growled, hefting his hammer in hand. "Else I'll be getting' a little clumsy wit' me hammer afore the night's through …"

The thing thumped down hard on the table next, and the man's fingers twitched where they were clawing at Evelyn's arm. She only pressed that dagger even closer.

"You had best," the man tried to bark a laugh, struggling against her grip and the steel tip both, "think twice over just who _you_ call a whelp … Yeslick Orothiar. Rieltar's son would serve you … your own beard on a platter, you miserable little … half-man!"

"Well ye'd best be pointin' us in his direction then, Thaldorn," the Dwarf grunted right back, "seein' as yer too much a coward ta do it yerself."

The man tried to shake his head in her grasp. "As if I would tell a pathetic little rock-smasher like you …"

But Evelyn thrust the dagger into his throat just a little, drawing blood. He cried out sharply in reply, breathing hard.

"We're not here for you," she breathed in his ear. "Tell me where Sarevok Anchev is, and I won't kill you."

"Do you think that I am afraid of _you_?" he snarled at her. She just squeezed tighter.

"I think you should be."

"Tell us where they be, ya bleedin' sneak!"

The man only spat at the Dwarf. But, quick as he could blink, Yeslick had snatched the other's hand in one of his own, and forced it down to the table. In the next moment, he had that hammer raised high. He raised one bushy eyebrow at the man. Evelyn could feel him tense up in her grasp. His eyes flashed from first one to the other.

And then the hammer fell.

"Candlekeep!"

The man cried out frantically. Evelyn's eyes went wide as well. But Yeslick just caught the steel before it could strike, easing it down.

"Candlekeep! Candlekeep!" Thaldorn was uttering desperately, his eyes squeezed shut. "Brunos and Rieltar _both_. They've … they've gone to Candlekeep …"

She almost lost her grip on the man. But then she was tightening it suddenly twice as hard and driving the steel back into his flesh both. He was nearly in tears.

"Why did they go _there_?" she hissed in his ear, shaking him. But the man was nearly hysterical. He was trembling.

"I don't know … I don't know …"

She pricked him again with the dagger.

"They're attending business … with some benefactors from the south! Please!" he pleaded. "That's all I know … that's all I know!"

"Quit yer blubberin', ye gutless bastard."

The Dwarf abruptly shoved his boot into the side of the man's chair, sending it toppling over. Evelyn jumped back as the man tumbled down to the ground, giving the other a withering look.

"Where is Sarevok?"

She rounded back on the fallen man, writhing there on the ground. But he wasn't paying attention to them anymore. He was just trying to claw his way back to his feet, and away from them. She took a step toward him, opening her mouth once more.

"Thaldorn?"

Evelyn nearly jumped, twisting back around in surprise toward the door. She looked to the Dwarf, but there was no mistaking it. Someone suddenly knocked.

"Cloudwulfe!" the man crawling on the floor suddenly gasped out, still inching away. Evelyn started toward him, but she didn't get far. The door slammed back on its hinges.

Yeslick was there in an instant, but it was too late. An axehead was forcing its way into the room, and at the other end of a long, man-sized haft … stood a man. His black eyes struck hard into the room beyond like a hammer.

Evelyn recognized the man who stood there instantly. He had been the one standing beside Aasim below as he greeted the emissary – Zhalimar. His expression had hardly changed since then, but she could easily see the cold fury in his eyes. He forced the Dwarf back a few steps with that halberd.

Zhalimar took one look at them, kicking a booted foot into the man still sprawled across the floor outside beside him. That one did not stir.

And then he caught sight of Thaldorn on the floor. The man was slowly climbing back to his feet.

"So," the large man with the halberd grunted, "intruders, is it?" He lowered that axehead just a little. "You have just made the worst mistake of your short lives."

Evelyn just slipped the ashwood staff back into her hands.

"Where is Sarevok?"

And the other blinked in surprise. But then he fixed her curiously for a moment. A smile crept slowly across his lips.

"_You_?" he breathed. And then he started laughing. Great peals of it racked his broad, plated chest. "And here I had thought you just thieving fools or spies!" He shook his head, the axehead trembling in his hands. "I see I was pleasantly mistaken.

"You are that poor, miserable girl he wanted, are you not?" he continued chidingly. "You must be to have come so foolishly this far …" He was still laughing. "Well then, I have a rather painful answer for you, I am afraid." He hefted that halberd in his hands. "It is the only one that you will get from _me_."

She only bared her teeth at him. But he looked suddenly past her.

"Thaldorn!" he bellowed at the other man. "Hurry your _useless_ hide out of my sight!"

"How _dare_ you!" the other spat back, standing. "You do not give orders _here_, bootlicker! I _own _this building! And I will have you gutted slowly for–"

"Silence!" Zhalimar snapped at him. "There is only one man who commands here, Thaldorn," he waved the axe head closer, "and he is not _you_. You are infinitely fortunate that Sarevok has decided to let you live … for the moment. Now go!" He thrust away with the haft curtly.

"We shall see what Rieltar has to say about that!" the man was muttering under his breath, too quietly for the other to hear. He only started forward, making his way around the table and toward the door.

Evelyn's staff was up in an instant and sweeping wide. It took Thaldorn hard in the face, slamming him back. Booted feet flying free beneath him, he tumbled back down to the ground.

"Yeslick!"

The Dwarf was moving before she had even opened her mouth, though, that hammer hurtling free from his hands. It struck Zhalimar in the chest, knocking him clear off his booted feet. The halberd clattered down to the floor. Evelyn hardly wasted a moment.

She was leaping over the fallen man and back out into the hallway beyond, the Dwarf shuffling along hastily behind. He snatched his hammer up from where it had tumbled free, and was swiftly on her heels as she flew back down the hall toward the stairs. They had found all that they were going to find there. And it was hardly what she needed.

But as she darted around the corner and back into the anteroom … she came up short. The Dwarf nearly barreled into her from behind.

Four more men were gathered around there before them … and one fat woman in a tight bun and a straining dress. She hesitated for a moment at that.

"What is the meaning of this?" Emissary Tar demanded instantly, looking to either of the two men beside her. One was the same in silk from before, Aasim. The other was wearing plate with a thick, curved blade strapped at his side.

Evelyn barely had a chance to glance at the others.

"GARDUSH!"

Zhalimar suddenly bellowed from where he was just getting back to his feet behind them. The other man in plate slipped free the blade at his side, lowered it – tip to the ground – and then brought steel swiftly back up and around. The fat woman's head toppled over to the ground.

Her eyes went wide as Evelyn watched that headless, bulging body crumple to the floor, finally bursting the seams of the dress. Tar's murderer only fixed back on her with cold, hard eyes.

"You have breached an inner circle, fool!"

Zhalimar was back on his feet, halberd in hand, as she twisted back around.

"We are servants of Sarevok and Sarevok alone!" he bellowed on, stalking forward. "_Selected_ by hand to protect _his_ destiny!"

His face twisted in rage.

"You … are an insect. _You_ … will be crushed!"

Steel rang free behind her.

"His will …!"

That axe head dipped, readied for the charge.

"… BE DONE!"

The man leapt at them, and Evelyn twisted aside as steel hissed past her face. She came back around, staff spinning right into the other's back. Yeslick slammed his legs out from under him with one swift blow. He lurched forward in the air, and struck hard down to the ground.

The others hardly waited.

A dagger whipped past her head, and Evelyn threw herself aside. Yeslick dashed forward, barreling into the man with the blade as he howled, rushing to meet him. Both went down to the ground in a heap, rolling along the marble.

Light suddenly flared, and fire was raining down all around her. Evelyn leapt away, rolling until a marble pillar struck her back. Someone darted in at her side and the Kara-Turian blade swept free, slicing into his as he passed. The man tumbled over and away, clutching at his thigh. And then the stone above her exploded.

Chunks of marble burst everywhere. Evelyn cried out as a few shards suddenly slipped across her arm, tearing away lavender down to the flesh beneath. Blood starting welling up, but she was throwing herself back instantly to her feet, staff in hand. She tried not to feel it.

Yeslick leapt up from the man he had been wrestling with, slamming his fist hard into the other's face. The one's nose burst, blood splattering down his chin. And then the Dwarf was back on his feet, a man in leathers facing him down. He started to chant.

The hammer was flying free from the Dwarf's hands in an instant. It struck the other hard in the chest, and he toppled over without a sound.

Something swung in for her skull, and only instinct saved Evelyn from having it bashed in. The marble pillar beside her wasn't so lucky. And then she was twisting aside, only to find the man she had wounded coming at her again with the blunt end of a mace. The column behind her all but burst apart as she threw herself aside once more.

Ashwood staff in one hand, Kara-Turian blade in the other, she swung right back. He warded the wood away with the haft of the mace, leaping back as the sword swept in at his gut. And then she came spinning around again, her boot to his face. She finally recognized that same man – Aasim – as the staff cracked across his skull.

Yeslick cried out, and she twisted back around … only to see him strike hard against a wall, light flaring along his chest. The Dwarf tumbled down to the floor with a grunt, and she quickly traced his flight back to the only man left standing. He was turning on her then.

Another knife flicked upward in the man's hand, and he sent it hurtling toward her. She twisted away and back behind another pillar, glancing hastily aside. The Dwarf had already started to pick himself up. And then the marble exploded above her.

Fire burst everywhere, and Evelyn only had time to scream before she was hurtling face first away toward the wall. She twisted around onto her side, and her back struck wood.

She heard Yeslick roaring something about Clangeddin, and suddenly grunting as one of those daggers took him in the chest. He didn't even slow as he barreled into the man with the knives, taking him clear off his feet. And then, for a moment … it was almost quiet.

Evelyn let herself drop down onto her back, coughing up marble dust from her lungs as she glared around at the fallen forms littering the room. She didn't see the Dwarf.

"Yeslick …!"

She writhed there on her back, trying to force decent air back into her lungs. She was bruised in more than a few places, hoping nothing was broken. All she could hear was panting and groaning there in the dusty room.

"I'm comin', lass."

The Dwarf was suddenly bursting into view, lumbering towards her across the stone. There was a knife sticking out of his chest beneath the shoulder, but he seemed not to notice it more than just to cast it irritably aside as he moved.

"I'm comin'."

Evelyn started climbing back to her feet, pulling herself up with the staff. The Kara-Turian blade hung limply from her other arm. She tested it, but it seemed all right.

She could see Aasim laying just a few paces away from her, but he was out cold. The others could not be so for long.

"Hurry!"

She stumbled a step forward. They had to get out of there … and fast.

"I _am_ hurryin', lass! I–"

He suddenly went down.

"Yeslick!"

She started toward him, but her legs didn't work quite right. And then she was back down as well, tumbling forward into a heap.

The man with the sword and the broken nose – Gardush – was rolling the Dwarf over, blade in hand and bearing down on the other as he crouched over him. He thrust down, but the stocky little man abruptly twisted aside, forcing his arm to the blade. It sliced deep down into the flesh to the bone, but steel only scored against marble below. And then Yeslick was fisting the man hard in the side of the head. He slumped over to one side.

She was back on her feet, and so was he, cradling his left arm across his middle. His tunic quickly turned a bright crimson.

"Look out, lass!"

Something struck her across the back of the head, and she went down. She caught herself at her knees, but before she could twist back around, a boot was shoving hard into the small of her back. Her face struck marble.

"Too late," someone growled above her. She pulled herself back up to hands and knees, but she was too slow. She already felt the air whirling at her back.

Something hurtled through the air, slamming into whoever it was behind her. It took her a moment to realize that it was the Dwarf. As she forced herself back to her feet, she could see him there, wrestling one-armed with Zhalimar and rolling about on the stone. It wasn't long before the other got the upper hand, however, and cast the Dwarf away.

The man snatched up his halberd from the floor, but she had her staff and blade in hand before he could. The ashwood took him swiftly on the side of the head, sending him back over and down with a sharp grunt.

"Come on, Yeslick!"

The Dwarf just growled at her as he clambered back to his feet once more. She slipped the Kara-Turian blade back into its sheath at her side. And then she was twisting away. Something stabbed into her thigh before she could, however.

She fell back against a broken pillar with a cry, catching herself before she hit the ground. A knife was sticking out of her side.

Yeslick was already moving. She could see another knife suddenly spring into that man's hand, though, where he stood again across the room. He was clutching at his stomach where the Dwarf had struck him, but that hardly seemed to stop him from launching another of those small blades toward the stocky little man as he charged him. This time … his aim was a little better.

Before Yeslick could reach him, the man had sent that dagger through the other's stomach. The Dwarf _did_ slow then. In fact … he stumbled to a halt.

For one terrible moment, all Evelyn could do … was watch.

The smile that spread across the face of that man with the knives was sickening then. But he seemed to have run out as he faced the Dwarf panting on his knees just paces before him. The man just raised his hands, words springing easily to his lips. Light was flaring in hands soon after.

Before the man could loose his magic, though, Yeslick was yanking free that dagger from his stomach. With a grunt, he sent it hurtling toward the other. It struck him in the chest, and he went down.

"_Bastard_!" the Dwarf spat after him, groaning. But the other did not stir.

Evelyn tore free the dagger from her leg, throwing herself forward onto the ashwood staff. She started toward the Dwarf.

When she reached the other, however, she could already see the blood spilling down the bottom of his tunic. It was soaked, and his face was pale there beneath his braided beard. She didn't waste another moment.

"Come on, Yeslick," she uttered softly in his ear as she bent down to help him back to his feet. But her hands only slipped on blood. And the Dwarf forced her roughly aside.

"Get outta here, lass!" he growled at her irritably, clutching at the hole in his stomach. "Ye can't lift me, ye fool girl! Run!"

But she could. She would. She snatched at his arm once more.

"Yeslick!" she hissed at him. She could already see Zhalimar climbing back to his feet out of the corner of her eye. "NOW!"

But the Dwarf pushed her bodily away again, leaving her scrounging along the ground and wondering how he could possibly have the strength to still do that and not walk. They could get him back to Jaheira … they could heal his wound before it proved to great … they could–

But Yeslick was scrounging down on the ground for his lost hammer. The man he had thrown it at was already stirring to one side.

His gruff voice was deathly calm of a sudden then.

"_Go._" He gestured with the hammer toward the stairs. "Ye get that rat-faced bastard and his son for me, lass. By my beard, I'll be waitin' for their bloody demon souls in the Hells."

She started toward him, clutching the ashwood staff tight in her hands, her face twisting in anger and disbelief both. Gardush was back on his feet, and so was Zhalimar. That third man was on hands and knees.

"Run, lass," the Dwarf grunted. "NOW!"

She glared at him. But it did nothing. Zhalimar was growling at them to one side. That halberd was back in hand.

And then she saw Yeslick's blood for what it was. It was all over him. She had not seen it before. He was dead already. He knew it. He knew it and … he … he knew it …

It had been those five men against just them two … they had never had a chance. Two of the others were down, one unconscious, the other maybe dead. But three more were back on their feet. And Yeslick couldn't have helped her anymore than he already had. She would have been dead already if it had not been for him …

And she would be dead soon if she stayed.

He knew it. He knew it and he was giving up … He was giving up his vengeance to die. It was wrong … _he_ was wrong … That was _not_ how it was supposed to be!

But he wasn't moving.

"Go!" he snarled at her. Blood was spilling down his good arm from a wound she did not see. "GO!"

… And she _did_ …

Those three men almost ignored her as she stumbled away toward the stairs as fast as she could, limping heavily upon her one good leg. She could hear them closing in on the Dwarf behind. And she could hear _him_ growling back at them and hurling curses.

It didn't last long.

She only stopped when she finally heard blood spilling out on the floor. But she didn't look back. She couldn't. Something struck the marble behind … And then she was starting forward once more.

She lost her footing at the stairwell, slipping down. But she caught herself by the railing. Someone was shouting behind her. She didn't hear it.

Footsteps were pounding up the stairs. She almost didn't hear them. But she could see the shadows cast by men hurrying up those steps from the floor below. She growled pitifully deep in her throat. She forced herself away.

For a moment, she didn't know where to go. She stood there … helpless, panic breaking through the sudden numbness. They were closing in all around her … she could feel it. She was trapped …

She was trapped.

Someone said something. They were close. But she didn't listen. It sounded bad enough. She just squeezed her eyes shut, starting to sink down to her knees.

She was trapped.

Something struck her hard in the back. She pitched forward, clutching at the ashwood staff as tightly as she could. Talking again. She felt her head hit wood.

Her eyes opened … and there were suddenly steps before her. Someone had taken pity on her then. She didn't argue. She just started to crawl. Stabbing the staff ahead into the first step, she started to make her way up.

Those voices were at her back. They were chiding her, she could tell … mocking her as she desperately climbed up the steps before her. Blood was thundering in her ears. She couldn't hear it.

There was a door in front of her then. Or rather … there _used_ to be a door in front of where she lay upon her stomach. She looked up at the frame, seeing nothing but the night sky beyond.

It was raining.

She was back on her feet. Or rather … she had been. Something struck the back of her legs and she went down once more with a strangled cry. She was crawling forward on her hands and knees.

Someone laughed.

"Where are you going, girl? There is nowhere up here … but _down_."

The blood quieted somewhat in her head … enough to glance back at the man behind her. She didn't though. She just paused for a moment, catching her breath.

She thrust herself forward.

Eventually she came up against stone. There was a small wall rising up before her, and she used it to hoist herself back up. This time … no one knocked her back down to her knees.

Her dark hair was matted, sticking to her face. She tried to swipe it aside, but got a face full of wet gravel from the stone below instead. She stared out at it to the men before her then.

There were five. She could just make out Zhalimar at their lead. He didn't have that halberd anymore, but it hardly mattered. She could not have survived them all.

"You will fear my wrath, girl, for it is great indeed!"

The man was snarling at her, but she barely heard him. A metal fence rose up behind her from the wall. She was on the roof.

"Naaman's life for yours! Sarevok will be _most_ pleased …"

He took a step toward her. There was a hole rent in the metal fence behind. The rain was beating hard down on her skull.

Lightning cracked.

She barked a laugh that turned quickly into a sob.

Sarevok wasn't there. Rieltar wasn't there. They had come there for nothing. Yeslick … her …

It was all for _nothing_ …

"Come along, girl," the man said softly, almost mercifully. "No more running. It is time to die."

But she just shook her head.

And then she screamed at the other. She screamed long and hard. She screamed until her voice went hoarse and she was left there whimpering as she sagged back against the stone.

It was all she had left.

Something deep down inside of her seemed to disagree. But she wasn't listening anymore.

The other only grunted, muttering to himself. He started towards her.

Before he could reach her, though, she twisted around, shoving first one leg over onto the wall where the fence was rent, and then the other. She grabbed the metal to either side, and pulled herself up. She looked down to the streets of Baldur's Gate far below … and then back toward the men atop the roof. The one had stopped dead in his tracks. He was sneering at her then.

"What are you going to do? Jump?"

He shook his head at her.

"Come down from there before you hurt yourself … and spare us the amusement. Sarevok will delight even more in taking you _alive_."

But she just thrust her staff onto her back, and turned away.

Sarevok was not there … Her _revenge_ was not there … It was all for nothing.

_Oh, Yeslick …_

She stuck out one foot …

… And let herself fall.

It would be a long way down.


	57. Chapter 6 Red Dawn

_**Red Dawn**_

Zhalimar Cloudwulfe paused for only a moment. And then he was ambling forward, large hands grasping stone as he thrust his plated chest over the side of the building. The streets of Baldur's Gate lay far below the rooftop, but he could only just barely make them out. The storm above had thrown up a mist below.

Eventually, he turned away.

"Take care of it," he grunted toward Diyab who had come up at his side. The priest only canted his head. He gave no sign of the broken ribs he had suffered at that miserable little Dwarf's hammer. They still had no idea just who the runt had been.

Thankfully, they had few back in Sembia to bother over.

"I want this whole building searched from top to bottom," he was ordering the two guards that had followed them up to the roof. "Who knows how many more pests managed to find their way in …"

He turned back briefly toward where the girl had jumped. It was a sour turn of events to be sure. The Flaming Fist would be swarming all over them like fire ants again if they found another dead body squashed in the streets. If nothing else, they would have a mess to clean up.

"And someone toss that corpse downstairs in the sewer! It was bleeding everywhere!"

Rieltar would hardly be pleased when he returned to find such a mess in one of his favorite chambers of the building. _If_ he returned. Sarevok, one way or another, would not care so much.

"Where is that miserable cur … Thaldorn?"

Gardush was speaking to another of the guards. They had begun swarming the level below – he could hear them. The man turned toward him.

"He has fled."

It was a little difficult to make out the man's words with his broken nose, and the blood trailing down his face didn't help either.

One girl … one _miserable_ little girl, and a Dwarf … of all things. It was enough to make him bristle all over with rage anew there where he stood. Naaman was dead. Their lives were hardly worth his. It was … an embarrassment.

"Find him," he growled at the other. His hand suddenly snatched at the man's shoulder. "FIND HIM!"

And then he was turning away, and marching back down the steps toward the floors below. He was going to _find_ that girl down there on the street. And he was going to deliver her _bloody_ head to their Lord himself!

Sarevok … would be pleased.

* * *

Her hands hurt …

Her whole body hurt.

Something was weighing her down. For a moment, she didn't know what it was. But then she realized it was her. It was her.

It was so heavy …

Her broken body was too heavy. She could feel it like a ball and chain dangling from her finger tips. They weren't strong enough to hold it up. And she had already fallen. Why was she still holding herself up?

She let go … or tried to. For some reason her fingers wouldn't budge. They were holding tight to something.

There was rain on her face. It was coming down in sheets, pounding against her. And there was wind too. She could feel it slamming into her from behind, thumping her against stone. Everytime it did, she winced. Pain shot through her body all over even though it was almost numb. Somehow, it was still getting through.

She was cold. She was dead, so she thought that was right. But she was shivering too. That wasn't right. Dead things don't shiver. But they did get cold. She thought that made sense.

She remembered falling. She had closed her eyes. She hadn't wanted to see it. That would only have made it worse. But she wasn't falling anymore. And her teeth were chattering. Why were her teeth chattering?

The wind again. It forced her hard into even stone, but she cried out all the same. Dead things couldn't talk. And they certainly couldn't scream. The spirits hounding her dreams begged to differ. But their teeth weren't supposed to chatter either. She tried to reach a hand to shut them up … but her fingers still wouldn't move. Why wouldn't they move?

She should have been fading away. She had sense enough to remember that much at least. But she wasn't. She was just hanging there. Wherever. She should have been crumbling apart into nothingness. Draining. She remembered that much at least.

The gale at her back was insistent. It crushed her up against hard stone. She cried out as pain suddenly shot through her once more.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The wind howled in reply. It swallowed up her voice, whipping into her again. And she could only hang there, whimpering. It wasn't listening.

She was crying, sobbing into the freezing air. But no one was listening. No one but that wailing gale behind her. And it wasn't. She just hung there, cold and alone. She should have been fading away. She waited to do just that.

And then something inside of her snapped. It forced her eyes to open.

At first … all she could see was gray. It was everywhere. She tried to blink it away, but it stayed. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut again. But it was still there when she came back.

Her chin was resting against something. Hard. She tried to look down, but stone scrapped her skin, refusing to let her move.

Stone …

Her eyes flashed back up, just then seeing the gray for what it was. There were bricks, marching away to either side of her. She could just make out the lines between them. Rain was running wildly down through in perfect little rivulets. It soaked every part of her. She could feel it seeping down into her bones.

Her arms were in front of her. She noticed them then. They were stretching away along those stone bricks and up. And then she found her fingers. She gasped in surprise when she saw where they were.

Suddenly, she was slipping. Her eyes went wide as she clawed against stone. But it did little good. The bricks were too slick, and all it took was just one finger loose from that small space between them. Her feet clamped down hard against wall far beneath, but it did nothing. She started falling back over and away …

The wind suddenly hammered at her back, howling. For a moment, she was weightless. Then her head struck glass, and she heard a crack. She wasn't sure if it was the glass or her skull, but then she was falling again. She just barely managed to catch hold of the stone once more before she tumbled down.

Her head hurt. But she didn't feel it. Instead, she just hung there, trying to get her seething chest back under control. Her eyes were as wide as they could go, and she had a mouth full of leather as she tried to twist them around over her shoulder. She could just see the streets of Baldur's Gate far below.

The stone before her was a ledge. She understood that much at least. She hardly knew how she had gotten there – the wind thumping hard at her back seemed to try to answer – or how her hands had caught so tightly against the stone – she certainly hadn't been trying to grab _anything … _that she could remember – but she suddenly wasn't so sure about letting herself die twice in the same night. And the wind just hammered into her once more, trying to force her through the bricks. Some spiteful god was having a cruel joke at her expense. Of that, she was so suddenly sure.

She was dangling there, her arms stretching up along a slant toward a window above her. It had been that that had struck her head. She noted, as well, with some perverse satisfaction, that it was the glass that had cracked and not her. Though … she wasn't quite so sure of that anymore.

But she wasn't dead. Or else … that was all a new nightmare in a slew of nightmares that had never seemed to leave her alone since Gorion had died. Somehow, though, she thought dying wouldn't be quite like this. She _knew _dying wasn't quite like this. Or hurt so much afterwards. Her knees were aching where it felt like she had smashed them.

She looked up. She had to blink against the rain that suddenly drummed vengefully against her eyes as she did so, and resist the urge not to swipe a hand that she did not have free toward them. There was no one up there, though, at least that she could see. They must have thought her dead. She _should_ have been dead.

She had been ready to die. She had almost _wanted_ it …

But then there was anger. Anger at that weakness. At _her _weakness. It suffused her totally for a moment, finally coming to rest in her arms. They tensed, and she bared her teeth. And then she started to pull herself up.

The ledge was wide enough for her to stand on … just barely. But her legs were just short of useless anyways. One was still bleeding from where she remembered steel digging deep into it. She could feel a sharp twang in the muscle everytime she put any weight on it. But she did it. She still did it. And then she was trying hard not to look down to the streets below.

She had summoned the courage to die that night. And it had all fled upon letting herself go. She didn't have anything left to go and try again. But she still almost wanted to … she had … she had wanted it to just _end_ …!

But there was still something she needed to do.

She could almost hear her voice echoing that need in response. It was something dark … and sinister.

She turned away.

She wasn't sure if there were tears in her eyes as she pulled free Fuller's dagger and used the hilt to smash the already doubly cracked window in, or if it was the rain. But she knew, as she tossed herself back into the Iron Throne building through the broken window, that it didn't matter all too much.

The heavens were weeping enough for both of them.

* * *

Zhalimar Cloudwulfe was looking down at the ground. The _empty_ ground.

The cobblestones were as dirty as ever. He could have almost expected to have found some other of that city's doltish riffraff lying dead or comatose in that rank gutter, drowning in its own excrement, as much as the girl. But he didn't. He didn't find anything at all.

Glancing back up toward the building, he shielded his eyes against the rains to see the slickened layers of stone and glass piled up atop each other toward the clouds above. There was nothing there either.

The breath was hot in his throat, steaming out through his nose as he turned back down. It was … a disappointment.

A _grave_ disappointment.

"Where is she, Diyab?"

The man was standing somewhere behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know that he was there. He could all but feel the priest shaking his head there in the rain.

"The guards are still searching the compound."

Zhalimar only shook his own head, grunting. He turned slowly back around toward the other, pausing only for a moment as he did so. His eyes lingered on a small space between two buildings across the street. And then he was facing the man behind him.

"Tell them to double their efforts, Diyab." His voice was even. "And someone had better collect Alai and Aasim." He paused again. "Have them search the outer premises as well."

The priest raised one eyebrow at him, but said nothing. His face was cold and even as he turned away. He made his way back up into the building.

For a moment, the man in barely bruised stout plate and short, fine coat was alone. And, for a moment … it was all Evelyn could do not to throw herself at him suddenly then.

She was standing there, drenched and soaked and cold and tired and quivering in the dark. Her shoulder was pressed firmly up against the damp stone bricks of the building to her side, her bleeding thigh only having slowed enough so that she couldn't tell if it was the rain or blood trailing down her leg. She kept slipping, and she kept picking herself right back up to force her arm back into the wall. It was all that was keeping her on her feet. They had both gone numb some time ago.

Her fingers twitched, and she flexed them about Fuller's dagger without looking away from the other. Shards of glass pierced the skin from the window she had broken, and there was blood there too. But she didn't feel it. She didn't feel_ any_ of it just then.

She was trembling, but it was from anger. She couldn't feel the cold either, as much as she knew she should have. The blood was pulsing in her veins too strongly. It wouldn't let her feel _anything_ else.

The man started to turn back, and she bared her teeth. She slid a hand slowly up the bricks at her side, pushing away. He was alone. Yeslick's _murderer_ was alone.

And she was going to kill him.

That thing was welling up inside of her. Evelyn could feel it. She could feel it like a poisonous snake unwinding itself from around her heart, only to thrust vengefully through her veins in tandem with the pounding in her skull. Her blood was rising like a tide, thundering above the terrible cadence of the storm clouds and lightning above. And she let it.

She just let it.

It had kept her alive. Somehow. When she had fallen, it had been that part of her that had kept her alive. It had somehow grabbed hold of something, using _her_ to do it, and refused to let go. It had refused to let her die. And it had pulled her through the broken window and the Iron Throne building both, back down to the sewers and up to the city beyond. But it had not left her there. No, it had not been satisfied with surviving alone.

Three men had followed her down to the sewers. Somehow, she had managed to evade them all until then, that thing dragging her along. And then it had tried to wear her face. It had tried to wear her face … but it hadn't been strong enough yet. She had still had enough control to keep it just from taking over completely.

Those three men had died down there in that sewer.

It wasn't strong enough. It wasn't … but it knew what she wanted. It could feel that hate broiling up deep down inside of her, caressing … enticing … feeding it, until it had been able to drag her back there to that place. It wanted her to kill him. It wanted her to let _it_ kill him if she proved too weak. And … and she wanted it too.

_Gods_, how she wanted it too!

She started forward.

He had not seen her. He had not seen her waiting there alone in the dark, ready to pounce on him and tear his heart from his beating chest … to rip right through the metal and flesh and bone to that pulsing beacon of life beneath … He had not seen her. And he still didn't see her … as she staggered toward him with only a knife in her hand then.

She had her staff. She had looped it back through her pack behind her under the cloak back on the roof, though she couldn't remember. And she had the Kara-Turian blade too. But neither of them would do. And Gorion's dagger was not meant for _him_. She wanted to see the look in his eyes when he died … _inches_ from hers. She wanted to be close. She wanted to taste his blood on her hands.

Oh yes. She did.

But then she was suddenly flying up off her feet.

It took her a moment to realize just what was happening. She was still staring at that man across the street. He still had not seen her. But she felt the arms around her, hauling her back. The beast was suddenly howling.

Her teeth were bared, and she hardly wasted a moment. The dagger flashed backward – her arm was free. It hissed through the air, lashing back at her captor's face. And he abruptly let her go. She tumbled down to the muddy stone below.

She was on her feet in an instant. The other was huddling back, cupping the side of his face with a hand. Two brown eyes suddenly bore angrily into hers.

"Evelyn!" the man hissed, keeping his voice low. He raised his other hand toward her, but there was no weapon in it.

She had crouched low, dagger ready to finish what she had started and gouge out his eyes. She was still baring her teeth at him, all but foaming at the mouth at the thought of _anyone_ trying to keep her from killing that man just then. She did not ease her stance, even when she finally managed to recognize his face. Fuller's dagger stayed firm in her hand.

Eventually the other just shook his head.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Evelyn?"

She stared at the Elf for a moment. It was an effort not to pounce on him anyways. He could hardly have stopped her. After a few more moments, though, she just twisted right back around. He was nothing to her then.

Yeslick's murderer was still there. And so was another man. That one did not look so happy as he stalked right up to the other through the pouring rain.

"Cloudwulfe!" the stranger in fine silks and gilt over leathers spat. "Where is Thaldorn?" he growled. "And where is Rieltar? You damned fools have given me the run around for far too long!"

Zhalimar only stiffened.

"We have an _incident _that we are attending to–"

"The _council_ will know how matters are faring here _now_, Cloudwulfe! I did not travel all the way from Selgaunt only to be kept waiting by bumbling, coin-swindling brutes!"

The other man's jaw clenched tight as he stood there, eyes hard and glaring.

"Master Nortuary," he began slowly, "if you will just–"

"No!" the other snapped. "No! I will not be misled by incompetent underlings anymore! If Rieltar believes he can leave his son's _thugs _in charge of this operation … then that is just what the council shall know!"

The man – Nortuary – started striding away, but immediately caught himself and rounded back on Zhalimar. He thrust a finger in front of the other's face, narrowing his dark eyes.

"I would … _suggest_," he continued, just loud enough to hear, "Zhalimar, that you find yourself a new master to _hound_ after. And soon."

And then the man was turning about once more, stalking back toward the building. Zhalimar glared after him the whole way.

He was alone again. It was time.

But as she started forward toward Zhalimar Cloudwulfe once more, those hands were suddenly back and binding her tight. This time, they were not about to just let her go.

The dagger came up instantly, but her arm wouldn't budge. Next came her foot, but she missed. All she hit was hard stone with her heel, pain shooting up through her numb legs.

"KIVAN!"

She tried to scream, but his hand over her mouth squeezed even tighter. He was stumbling back, trying to keep her flailing body at bay, and she was watching the man who had killed Yeslick, and nearly killed _her_, slowly turn … and start to walk away.

Everything inside of her started screaming, and she was thrashing wildly at the sight of that man's back. Kivan was hissing something urgently in her ear. But she wasn't listening. She wasn't listening. All she could see … was that man walking away. And the Elf was making her watch.

She howled aloud into his gloved hand as doors suddenly closed behind Zhalimar Cloudwulfe, swallowing him into the Iron Throne building once more. And she felt her blood turn to fire and ice both all at once. It turned suddenly on the man holding her tight.

Her thrashing started anew. She bit into that leather-gloved hand. And, for a moment, she felt herself pull free. For a moment, she felt herself seething and snarling and hissing vengefully to take the Elf in turn for taking the other from her murderous claws. But, before she could, she abruptly felt herself crashing into stone, as the Elf slammed her hard up against the brick wall.

She cried out, but it was in rage. His arm was folded behind her shoulders, and he had a hand at the back of her skull. He pounded her into the bricks once more, and all of the breath fled her lungs. They shriveled up to nothing as the side of her face squashed hard against brick. And she could only whimper then.

For a while, he held her there, pressed firmly still up against the wall, long after all strength had fled violently from her body. The beast had gone shrieking back down to its hole. Eventually, she could breathe again. But it was only to start sobbing there against stone.

And then he just let her go.

She collapsed down to her knees, hands flailing out to hold brick at bay. She ignored the pain that pulsed through her, throbbing as her face pressed flat against the slick wall. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The ranger had stepped away. He moved carefully over toward the end of the alley, gazing out toward the building across the street. The downpour seemed not to faze him much; his cloak had been pulled up, the hood draped over the top of his head. He stared for a moment, but there was no one there. And then he turned back.

"What were you doing, Evelyn?"

The raven-haired woman blinked up at him through her clinging black hair and rain, still huddling against the wall. She hadn't heard a word that he had said before. But now she only felt exhausted, as if all of the life had suddenly fled from her and left her a useless, deflated _thing_. She turned her head slowly away.

"I killed him."

"What?"

Her hands were in her lap, her forehead still pressed up against the bricks. She shook her head, scraping it against stone, and crying. She could just barely make her mouth work.

"I killed him …"

The ranger had her suddenly by the arms. He was hauling her roughly back up to her feet.

"Who?" he demanded instantly. "Who did you kill?"

She tried to look up at him. His hard eyes were searching hers desperately. But she only squeezed them shut, and sobbed through clenched teeth. She tried to let herself collapse back down in his grasp, but he held her tight.

"Who, Evelyn?" He shook her, snapping her head back and up. "Who did you kill? Tell me. Tell me _now_."

She tried to shake her head. But he was having none of it. His grip was getting tighter and tighter, leather-clad fingers digging painfully into her unfeeling arms.

"_Who_?" he all but snarled at her. He was baring his teeth then too.

She just let herself go.

"Yeslick," she breathed. She barely more than mouthed the dead Dwarf's name. "Yeslick," she sobbed. Her face twisted as she cried. "I killed him. I killed him …"

The Elf was still clutching at her for a moment then, but his grip had quickly faded. And, after another moment, it was gone. He let her go. And she just collapsed back down to her knees against the stone.

"I killed him … I killed him …"

She kept repeating it over and over, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and sobbing there in the rain. The ranger was still for a few moments longer. And then she could hear the slight squeak of his boots against stone as he stepped around her. It faded away to nothing, and he was gone.

She sat there for the longest time. She sat there letting the tears stream down her face, and repeating those words again and again until her voice was gone. She hunched over, clumps of dark, matted hair falling down around her. There were voices somewhere ahead.

She looked up briefly. But it was only to see men moving about outside the Iron Throne once more. They were not the ones from before. They were hard-faced men in stout leathers and mail, hands never straying far from the blades at their sides as they scoured the grassy grounds surrounding the building and the streets beyond. She let her head drop back down.

Fuller's dagger was still in her hand. She stared at it for a moment. And then she shoved it back in at her belt. She might have cut herself as she did so. She wasn't sure. But she could hear those voices getting closer. They would find her soon enough.

_Oh, Yeslick_ …

She waited.

But she didn't have to wait long.

Someone grabbed her. For a moment, she closed her eyes and waited for a blade to finish what had been started on the roofs above. But a voice was suddenly hissing lightly next to her ear instead. It was not the one she had been waiting for just then.

"I should have _left_ you where I found you that day."

She didn't answer it. And she didn't bother fighting him anymore. She just closed her eyes.

And then that someone was pulling her up. He threw her back over a shoulder and started away. And she let him.

She just let him.


	58. Chapter 6 The Sirine

_**The Sirine**_

The sky cracked.

Lightning flashed across the heavens, making the dark clouds bright for the briefest of moments before plunging back into night. Thunder followed swiftly on its heels, rolling almost lazily as it boomed down upon earth far below. The rain continued as it had. It poured down in buckets as it had. And lightning flashed again.

Evelyn glanced up toward the thunderheads above, hardly noticing her damp hair as it clung irritably around her face. Normally, it would have aggravated her. Normally, she would not have dared come out there in the midst of a storm at all. But, normally, she didn't hear Gorion's words echoed so perfectly in that thundering cadence. It crashed down loudly about her ears once more.

She turned her eyes back down, slowly. And then she put hands to the crenellated stone to either side of her. She pulled herself up. For a moment, she stood proudly out there along the ramparts, the one person brave enough to withstand that raging storm. For a moment, she just stared out into the endless horizon, seeing nothing but gray, rain-filled empty space and nothingness beneath the clouds. And then she looked down to the roaring waves below.

The Sea of Swords was thrashing violently, almost vengefully, down there amidst the rocks. Somewhere, deep down inside of her at that moment, she knew, something was thrashing as wildly, and angrily, as they. They called to each other, _sang_ to each other, and it was all she could do just to keep her balance there atop the ramparts for a moment. The winds and rains hammered at her back.

She almost toppled … but she caught herself with a steadying hand. She wasn't ready … just yet.

The storm raging at her back begged to differ. Thunder beat the library's walls above as savagely as the waves pounded the cliffs below, and that howling gale threatened to throw her in bodily if she failed to maintain the courage to do it herself. But she could. She would.

The winds tried to push her once more.

She blinked as she forced a hand into slick stone, steadying herself there again atop the ramparts. For a moment, panic welled up within her. She wasn't ready yet! But then she heard that voice once again.

"You are being as foolish as your mother ever was, Evelyn," Gorion was saying to her – scolding her. "Allowing yourself to be taken by the same _willful _fantasies … shirking your responsibilities with _treachery _and deception …"

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she heard her jaw crack before she could open them again.

"_No_," she spat, her face twisting. She had not been shirking her responsibilities. There were no _willful _fantasies. There was no _treachery_ or _deception_ …

It didn't even matter. Since when had _reading_ become her _responsibility_? Wasn't that what all the Oghman monks were for? And who in all of Faerûn was supposed to know … everything last thing _about_ Faerûn?!

For a moment, that voice didn't answer her. She stood there atop the stone, not turning around to face it. Instead she glanced back down to the crashing waves below. They would have swallowed her up easily. She slumped just a little.

Evelyn watched then as the large, bright and lavish caravan rumbled beneath the gates of Candlekeep, rolling on through to wrap around just inside the walls themselves. Her mouth fell open as she glanced back over that way. Her breath caught in her throat.

But the sun wasn't shining. It had been then, and she watched as those dusky men stepped down from the front, calming the horses while others and women and younger children came spilling out the backs. They had come up from Amn on their way to Baldur's Gate in the north, making a brief stop in the library-fortress to peruse the library's fine tomes and scrolls. A nobly born man and some others were discussing it and being greeted by the prominent figure of the Keeper of the Tomes there in the courtyard, Ulraunt. Some of the children had been her age.

"Do you _think _I do not see what you are about, child?"

Her head snapped back around. That voice was growling at her once more. Gorion was yelling at her once more.

"Do you _think_ I am so blind as to not see what passes before my very eyes?"

Her own started to blur. She didn't see the angry Sea of Swords stretching out before her anymore. Instead she saw the old man pacing there, where he had finally cornered her alone in her study inside the keep.

But she didn't know. She _hadn't_ known. That only seemed to make him more furious, though. Pretty soon, he would make it very clear just what he had meant.

They were speaking to some of those older Amnish children – Imoen and her. Her eyes blinked away tears and flashed back over her shoulder toward the courtyards below. They had to have been the first visitors to the Keep of similar age to themselves … well, _ever_. And they had been from _Amn_ – more than a hundred miles to the south! Her and Imoen had barely ever been outside the walls …

But a hand drifted gently up to cup her ear, her eyes watering once more as she felt her father snatching her by it. He was scolding and embarrassing her all the way back to her room, barking at Winthrop to punish Imoen for what she had done as well. But the pudgy innkeeper had only taken the other girl by the shoulder, leading her gently away. She had not suffered nearly so much as her best friend had that day.

But it did not stop there. And, feeling tears spring into her eyes, she almost wished that it had. She almost wished that it had …

She and Jondalar were alone, practicing, later that day. Some of those Amnish boys noticed, and came to watch. At first, she hadn't understood just what was so interesting about the two of them leaping about, and kicking, and fisting the empty air – and sweating so hard that her hair all but stopped bouncing off her head as she moved. But she seemed to be impressing them. She could feel herself grinning back at the encouraging shouts that they had been giving her. Jondalar only chided her for getting distracted. It was hard not to smile back.

But Gorion had soon been there too. She could almost see him there in the rain-drenched courtyard now, watching them. She wondered if he had been hounding her steps all along.

The old man hauled her away once more, and she blinked the memory away quickly as well. It had been an effort to escape being thrust under one arm and carried away like a whining child. She had hardly known just what had made him so angry, and _Jondalar_ hadn't even bothered to help. He had only shaken his head and shuffled anxiously away, leaving her to her raging father. She had never seen him so angry before in her life.

But it had hardly been the worst thing to come.

"I _warned _you, child …"

Her teeth were clenching tight, her eyes glaring down into the rain.

"I _forbade_ you from it," that voice continued. "And yet you seem to have taken it upon yourself not only to forsake my words …"

She could almost _feel_ his eyes narrowing on the back of her head as she stood there suddenly fuming alone in the rain.

"… But to endanger the very natural order of things far more than you could ever _possibly_ realize."

She had shaken her head at that, scowling. It had made no sense to her at _all_. But it hadn't mattered to him just then what she seemed to think or feel. He just kept on berating her there in her small room.

"I assign you studies … you avoid them," he continued. "I try to teach … and you learn the barest minimum. I speak the words of the greatest sages this world has ever known," he snatched a book suddenly up off her desk, "and you barely listen!"

He had rounded on her, holding that book up almost as if he meant to pummel her with it. For a moment, she had flinched as if he would.

"And when I _order_ you to stay away from those …"

He finally winced, a breath seething out of his robed chest. But that had not stopped him for long. He fixed almost instantly back upon her once more.

She didn't think she would ever forget what his eyes had looked like just then.

"It is an abomination, Evelyn … _you_ are an abomination. And I will not have this world suffer anymore for your mother's sins."

She had stared. She had just … stared. But he had already turned his back on her. And it had not taken her very long to understand just what he had meant all along. She had stormed out of that room without another word.

The howling winds and driving rain had come later that night. But the storm itself … that had begun all too early in the day. She could see that just so clearly now.

Evelyn stifled a sob up there atop the stone, and she swiped briefly at her eyes to keep her tears from joining the rain. The anger fled for a moment … but it came back quickly enough. And then her jaw was clenching tight as she stared forward into the night, resolved once more. Her face felt unnaturally hard.

She was an abomination. That was what Gorion had said. She was something terrible – something that, deep down inside of him … he hated. She understood that now. She understood just what he had really wanted her to do all along. He had almost said it. He had almost been brave enough.

But _she_ was brave enough. And she would do it. It was what she had come there to do. It was the only thing that would make him happy. And it was that, more than anything, that gave her the courage to do what needed to be done. She took a deep breath … and held it.

Her eyes never left the storm.

She stuck out one foot …

… And–

"EVE!"

She lost her balance.

Her foot slipped. And for one moment, one _terrible_ moment … panic caused every muscle in her body to suddenly freeze up.

She slammed down hard on her side atop the stone between the crenels, crying out. And then she was scrabbling wildly for any sort of purchase as she kept slipping, over and down. But it was too late. She just kept sliding …

She screamed.

And then hands were snatching at her abruptly, pulling desperately at her drenched form as it tumbled away over the side of the wall. They stopped her. And then they started pulling her up. In another moment, she was rolling over and back down the other side of the slick stone.

She and her rescuer were collapsing against the ramparts in a knot of arms and legs then, both breathing hard against the driving rain. But the other pulled herself quickly free, yanking at Evelyn in the next moment to snap the other girl around to meet her. Her best friend was staring her wide-eyed in the face.

"Whaddya think yer doing, Eve?!" she demanded instantly, horrified. Her chest was pounding violently up and down. She gave the other woman another savage shake. "You almost fell!" she all but screamed.

Evelyn said nothing for a few moments, only tried to get her own thumping heart and ragged breathing under control. She started coughing, feeling suddenly so very sick to her stomach.

She tried to crawl away from the other girl, not even daring to look at her after what she had just nearly done – after what she had been so ready to do. All of that courage suddenly fled from her in an instant, and she started trembling wildly. But Imoen only snatched her right back.

"_Eve_!"

The other was holding her arms tight, not letting her go. Eventually, Evelyn worked up the courage to look up at her. And then she blinked her eyes away.

"Nothing," she managed. She swept a trembling hand back through her damp, clinging hair. The rain was still thundering down in bucketfuls everywhere about. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" she cried. "Ya scared me ta death doing _nothing_!"

Evelyn glanced back toward the other. Her eyes were as wide as they could go, filled with fear, and anger, and … and she didn't know what. But she felt herself suddenly come apart for not the first time that day, her whole world seeming to crash down with the storm around her. Thunder roared in her ears.

And then she suddenly had her arms around the pink-haired girl. Tears sprung to her eyes alongside the rain, and she hardly dared to stop them as she started crying fiercely into Imoen's shoulder. Her hands were clawing into the other's back, squeezing her desperately. She never wanted to let go …

Imoen was hugging her back after only a moment, squeezing her just as hard and rubbing her own hands into her best friend's back. She started rocking Evelyn back and forth, frowning next to her ear. When she spoke again, some time later, her voice was soft, and quiet.

"Old Mr. G's been lookin' everywhere for you," she was whispering in the the raven-haired girl's ear. "But we won't let him find you out here." She shook her soaked head. "He's angry enough as it is."

Evelyn sobbed, clutching the other all the tighter. But she didn't say anything. And Imoen just squeezed her back before pushing a little away.

"Come on, Eve." She started to pull the other back to her feet, forcing a smile for her as she did so. "Yer just lucky you've got a friend as good as me to keep you from doing stupid things like fallin' off a walls in the middle of the night …"

But as the pink-haired girl rounded back upon the ramparts, her best friend clutched tight at her side and in tow, she abruptly came up short before crashing hard into a man's chest. Two crystalline blue eyes peered down at them then from beneath the hood of a heavy cloak.

"Evelyn."

Gorion stared at her for a moment. But she had squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly stiffening where she stood. Imoen frowned at her, but then pulled her even closer. The old man, towering over them there atop the soaking ramparts, seemed not to notice.

He turned briefly out toward the raging Sea of Swords beyond the walls, silent for a moment. Evelyn opened her eyes and looked up at him then, but his face was hidden in shadow. Her gaze flashed quickly away as he returned, but he rounded on Imoen then instead.

"Thank you, child," he said to the pink-haired young woman. "Run along back to bed. I will see your friend here to hers."

Imoen looked over at her best friend, seeming, to Evelyn, almost to hesitate for a moment. But she glanced at Gorion then, and slowly pulled herself away. That was not before squeezing the raven-haired girl hard once more in a fierce hug, though. And then she was dashing quickly away from those ramparts and out of the rain. Evelyn watched her go.

A moment later, she felt her father's hand on her shoulder. Without another word, he led her away.

She didn't sleep that night. But she pretended to … when Gorion eventually found his way into her room early the next morning.

He stood there in the open doorway for the longest time. It was still dark outside her window, but she closed her eyes. She could barely see anything in the small chamber, but she knew it was him. Somehow, she always knew when it was him.

It was some time later, but he inevitably made his way toward her bed. He stood staring down at her as she pretended to sleep for an even longer time then.

"You are not your mother."

A hand rested down against her cheek. It brushed softly along her skin.

And then it was gone.

She was dimly aware of her blankets being pulled up more tightly around her. She had changed out of her soaked clothes to avoid staining the bedsheets, yet the chilling cold had never left. But, for that briefest moment, as she felt that gentle touch … it did. It almost did.

The door was closing quietly soon after.

She spent the rest of the morning crying herself to sleep. And she slept until long after the sun had come up. Gorion never once came to force her out of bed to read her books the next day.

* * *

So she was just a little irritated … when she felt the light burning hot on her face.

Evelyn winced, only half coming out from her dreams as she twisted sore muscles there slowly beneath the bright light. "Not now," she started to mumble, finding a more comfortable position, "I'll read it later …"

But the light wasn't leaving her alone.

Gorion always brought a candle and left it close by her bed when he wanted her to wake up early. He knew how hard a time she had sleeping except in complete dark.

"_No_ …"

She began twisting away again, but it followed her. Eventually, she was lying on her side and blinking ahead into a wall. And wondering … just where she was.

It didn't take her long to realize that she was in a bed … or that she had been stripped down to her smallclothes. The sheets and blankets around her were creased and slightly damp even still. And her hair was a tangled, matted mess.

Memory started filtering back, even as she twisted back around toward the room she had somehow gotten herself into. But, as she did so, she nearly jumped out of the bed in surprise.

It took her another moment, but she ultimately realized that the man kneeling beside her in that bed wasn't moving. And bore a familiar face besides. Still, it wasn't exactly the first place she would have expected to find the Elf. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was doing nothing so much as sleeping there with his back straight and up. Her eyes flashed quickly away.

There was a small window on the other side of the room. And it was a small room, so she could hardly have thought much of that. There was barely more than a stand, that bed, and a table to take up what little space was left. And it was through that glass that the light was streaming down into her face.

She blinked up at the window irritably. And then she glanced back toward the Elf. He was looking at her.

She started again. This time, it was only his eyes that kept her from tearing free of the blankets that bundled her atop the bed.

"You are awake."

Evelyn squeezed her own eyes shut. And when she opened them again, Kivan was on his feet and at the door. "Wait here," he told her firmly, and then vanished through. As if she would have gone anywhere without first finding her clothes …

She frowned at the cramped space around her. But he was back before she could think to do anything more.

She propped herself up on her elbows then, but he tossed something down swiftly into her lap. She glanced down at the small, rather meager, loaf of bread, and then gave him a dubious look. He only crouched down to one side, and began to go to work on a wrinkled little apple, not looking at her.

"Where are we?" she finally asked.

"The Blade and Stars Inn," he grunted impatiently before cracking into the fruit again. He gestured with it toward her curtly as he chewed. "Eat."

It was lucky for him that she suddenly realized how hungry she was. Still, it was hard not to glare as she finally took the bread and began breaking off little pieces to stuff into her mouth. She just tried to ignore him, like he seemed to be ignoring her.

"Where are my clothes?"

She was dropping tiny crumbs all over the bed. But she hardly cared. It wasn't _her_ bed. She didn't look at him as she spoke.

"Do not think me so crude," he told her suddenly, though, almost angrily. "You are lucky you did not _freeze_ to death. And I spent a good part of the night and the morning enduring my own wet clothes just for trying to _force_ some warmth back into you."

She tried to scowl at him around a mouthful of bread, narrowing her eyes. But he had already looked away, not paying her anymore heed. She hardly knew just what he meant, giving her that kind of tone for just a simple question after all. But she suspected it had something to do with why she was all but naked underneath those blankets.

She gingerly tested her thigh of a sudden then, but ended up rubbing her fingers along what felt like nothing more than a scar where she remembered a deep wound should have been. And then she realized that there should have been a good _many _more prominent sores that just seemed to have faded entirely from her body. Her eyes flashed back toward the Elf.

"A priestess of Tymora was staying in the inn," he explained almost irritably, seeming to read her mind as he finished that pitiful meal. "You should be _thankful_ that she did not see fit to roll dice to decide your fate and merely accepted my coin. Otherwise you might be dead and breakfast would have been more filling," he muttered at the last.

She frowned at that, but let it go. And then she spent the next few moments in silence, wondering whether or not he expected some kind of gratitude from her. She remembered just what he had pulled her away from, though, and then almost left her to when she could barely have fought it anymore. She remembered all too well.

"Evelyn," he abruptly broke the silence, however, and she looked up without thinking, still chewing. He had finished with the apple, and those two brown eyes were boring into her now like augers. For a moment, she just glared right back.

"What were you doing there?"

She didn't have to ask him just which 'there' he meant. And she felt a pang of guilt stab vengefully at her then at being reminded. She turned it quickly to anger and loosed it on the other instead.

"Just what were _you_ doing there?"

But he hardly blinked.

"I have been there every night since I learned just what it was," he told her. And then he muttered on more quietly to himself, "I have been waiting for that _beast_ to show his face."

His eyes flashed back up toward hers.

"Why were you there, Evelyn?" he repeated.

She stared at him for a moment. And then she let her gaze fall down to the floor. She let herself fall back down to the bed. It was warm, at least, and she suddenly felt cold again all over.

She told him … everything.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the low ceiling as she spoke, but she squeezed them shut when she finally came to Yeslick and how he had died. How she had _left_ him to die. And then she couldn't help realizing just how foolish she had been – how utterly stupid thewhole _idea_ had been in the first place. That miserable old Dwarf had died because of her. She had freed him from his bondage back in Cloakwood only to lead him right to his doom. It was no better than if she had plunged the knife into his heart herself. And the man who had killed him had gotten away. He had lived. And so had she.

But the ranger only grunted. "You were in no condition to fight that man," he told her simply, shaking his head. "You could not even fight_ me_."

And she glared at him, scowling. She opened her mouth, suddenly snapping at him about just how _easily_ she had planted his face in the ground barely a day ago in that alley. But he only held her gaze calmly with his own, waiting. And then she remembered being slammed hard up against a wall until she was little more than a bawling wreck. She bit back her tears and swallowed hard.

He did not call her a coward, though. As much as she expected it, as much as she _deserved_ it … he did not. She told him of how she had fled and left Yeslick to die, and then of how she had jumped to her death because she had been too afraid to make _them_ kill her. And his face didn't so much as twitch. He just listened, impassive and cold as stone, until she had finished. And then he looked away.

After a few moments, he spoke.

"I did not return you to the Elfsong," he began quietly, "because the fewer that know of my being here, the better. And I would avoid that scheming half-breed and her pet husband until my task in this city is done if I could."

She glanced at him briefly, her face still twisting pitifully. But she hadn't told him that Jaheira already knew. And so did Khalid.

"You will be safe here until you are well enough to return to the others," he continued. "I have enough problems to deal with in the meantime, not least of which are the two Zhentarim. I have been unable to find them since we left their lair."

The look he cast her then was unreadable, but she knew he was blaming her as if that were somehow her fault. She didn't even glare back. She just twisted away, moping up at the ceiling.

"Stay here until you are ready to leave," he repeated, and then stood. "I will return soon."

He looked almost worried as he reached for the door. But she said nothing. He just canted his head, and then he had vanished once more. She watched him go.

Then she let herself fall back again, and stared up at the ceiling. She forced her eyes shut, and waited for every last tear left inside her to boil away to nothing – until there was only hate left inside her for that man that had killed Yeslick, for that man that she had left Yeslick to, to die …

Next time she wouldn't have to run away. Next time she wouldn't be so weak. Next time … she wouldn't be alone.

"Imoen …"

She just hoped that her best friend could forgive her. She hoped that _all _of them could forgive her. But she needed her best friend more than _anyone_ … the other woman had already sacrificed so _much_ for her …

Elminster had been right.

She just hadn't listened.

She wasn't going to run away anymore. He had never meant for her to do that … or to hide behind the others and watch them die. There was just something more important for them to help her do. And running away wasn't going to keep them safe. It wasn't going to keep _any_ of them safe.

Next time would be different. _This time_ would be different.

_That_ … she swore to herself on Yeslick's own blood.

When the ranger finally came back, it was already late in the morning. Evelyn had already redressed herself and just finished working the last of the knots out of her dark hair with a brush. Kivan frowned at her as he moved within, closing the door behind. His face was unreadable.

"What?"

She frowned back at him, hastily shoving the brush into her pack and slipping it over her shoulder. He was moving again almost as soon as she was.

"What you told me," he remarked as he passed, striding briskly toward the other side of the room where he had hung a beaten pack over the back of a chair. "What this Thaldorn said." He rounded back on her as he slipped it on quickly under his cloak. "If the leader of the Iron Throne has gone to Candlekeep, and this man who killed your foster father – Sarevok Anchev – is his son and the one who gives orders to that half-breed beast … then it is very likely that both the son, and his hound, have gone with the father, whatever their reasons."

He turned and tossed her bundled cloak at her, and she caught it in her lap, glancing up at him. But he was already moving for the door.

"I do not have time to wait and keep you here," he was saying as he passed by in front of her once more. "I will take you back to the others now. You can see to yourself from there."

He had his hand on the door. But she had not moved.

"Kivan …"

He glanced back over his shoulder, and frowned.

She had dressed herself in a few of the only good clothes she had left – luckily her pack had managed to stay at least somewhat dry beneath her cloak – and she had her damp lavender coat on, blade and dagger strapped beneath. The ashwood staff leaned beside her on the bed.

He waited. And she sighed.

"How are you going to get inside?"

She didn't even have to ask him where he would be going. She knew. But _he_ knew the rules of her home as well as she did. She remembered that day so long ago just after Gorion had died. He knew well enough that he would need a valuable tome to enter.

The pause was barely noticeable. But she noticed it.

"I will find a way. Now," he gestured impatiently with a gloved hand, "hurry. I cannot give you much time."

She climbed to her feet, letting her slight irritation slip away. It would do her little good, just then.

"Kivan …"

He merely waited, though, impassive as ever.

She frowned at him.

"I will be going there too," she said. "_We_ will be going there too."

She almost didn't dare to think that Jaheira would agree to it after all that she had done. She almost couldn't think just what the half-Elven woman might _do_ when she found out all that Evelyn had done. Almost …

"I will go there," she continued softly. "If he is there … then I have to."

But the ranger only stared at her. He didn't even blink.

"You had best hurry then," was all he said. "It is over a hundred miles back south."

She just took an angry step toward him as he started to turn away.

"Kivan!"

And she came up short as he fixed her with that unreadable look once more. Her fists unclenched slowly down at her sides, and she tried to keep the exasperation from her voice.

"Just come with us, Kivan," she finally managed.

He just stared at her. And then he turned away.

"No."

"But why _not_?"

"Because, I–"

He stopped. She had thrown up her hands, standing there giving him as pleading, pained, and desperate a look as she could muster. But he just hardened, and then scowled back at her.

"I will_ not_, Evelyn," he told her firmly at the last. He was facing the door once more. "Now, come. You were leaving." He started to turn the latch.

But she was there in an instant, and holding his hand firmly in place. His hard eyes flashed toward hers, his face twisting irritably. And she glared right back up at him.

"Tell me why, Kivan."

His eyes narrowed at the sternness in her voice, but she raised her chin all the higher. Eventually, he blinked away and turned his scowl on the door instead. He stared right through it.

"Tell me why."

She made an expectant sound in her throat, having had _more_ than enough of his antics. One minute he was trying to help her and save her life, and the next he just wanted to run away! They were after the _same_ thing, for all the gods' sakes! And she had done _more _than enough for _him_. She had saved his life and been there for him when he needed someone most – even if he didn't admit it! And if how he was acting wasn't childish, or callous, or heartless, or cruel … well, it was just _rude_! And she was going to have an answer before she _ever_ let him through that door …!

She swore that with her heated, baleful eyes scouring his stony face then. And eventually … he gave it to her.

"Because I cannot stand to look at you anymore."

She just blinked up at him.

"What?"

The Elf ground his teeth, glancing away. But he came right back, suddenly angrier that ever.

"Because I cannot stand to look at you, Evelyn," he growled down at her as if repeating himself would somehow make it seem more sensible. She started shaking her head, opening her mouth, but he continued on. "And _see_ just what I have done to you … what I _helped_ you become."

She opened her mouth again, but he was suddenly bearing down on her, glaring hard into her eyes with his own.

"How many people have you killed, Evelyn?" he demanded of her then. "How many lives have _you_ ended since I picked you up off the ground that day? Dozens? More?" His lips twitched and she could see his feral teeth clenched behind them. His voice dropped suddenly low. "And how many times did I stand behind you and _let_ it happen – _help_ you become a rabid wolf?"

He was mere inches from her face, and, for a moment, nothing but blind hatred. She had winced with every last word he had snapped off at her, biting them off his tongue and spitting them down into her face. And then his tone had grown quiet, almost soft. His face was deathly still as he searched her eyes briefly then.

"What do you think that makes you, Evelyn? What do you think that makes _me_?"

"I don't know."

He stared at her for a long time. She could see his jaw working behind his mask as she held her ground. Eventually, he tore himself away.

But she wasn't about to let him go. He needed her just then. He needed her just as much as he had needed her back in Beregost that night so long ago. She knew that. She knew that, and she took a deep breath. Her voice stayed calm.

"Everyone that I have killed," she began softly after his retreating form as it moved further into the small room, "would have killed _me_. Or they would have killed someone else."

She didn't ask him if that was wrong. And she didn't dare think about Yeslick just then.

"And so you killed them," he muttered with his back to her after a moment, shaking his head. "Does that make you any better?"

She started to shake her head, but he twisted suddenly back about.

"You just do not understand, Evelyn … do you?" He was fixing back firmly on her. "There are monsters in this world," he all but spat there at her feet. "It takes a _monster_ to hunt them!" he hissed, stabbing a leather-clad finger vengefully to the ground. And then he withdrew. "Shevarash … has shown me that clearly enough."

He stared at her long and hard. But she said nothing, and for a moment, she could see … that mask almost cracked. He was shaking his slowly.

"You were never meant to be a monster, Evelyn."

The ranger's eyes squeezed painfully shut. For a moment, he was silent. And then he was staring down hard at the floor beneath her feet for some time. Eventually, though, he returned to her.

"I should have left you were I found you that day, Evelyn. I should have left you _as_ I found you that day."

For a long while, he stood there, and did not move. And she stared at him from the door, hand still hanging limply from the latch. Eventually, she let it drop back down to her side.

"It was my choice."

His eyes flashed up toward hers, but she held her ground. She fixed her gaze firmly on his.

"It was my choice, Kivan. I made mine, just like you. Don't try to take responsibility for _my_ actions."

His eyes fluttered shut, and his face twisted for a moment. But then he shook his head, and it was suddenly smooth again. He started toward the door.

"I will bring you back to the others," he said as he neared without taking his eyes from the wood. "You are obviously well enough to leave."

But as his hand fell on the latch, she abruptly snatched him up in her arms, pulling him close. She buried the side of her head in his shoulder, hugging him tight, and willing some warmth and strength back into him. He only stiffened, and did not return the gesture. She had hardly expected him to, though, and just squeezed tighter.

After a few moments, she pulled away enough to look up at him.

"I don't think you're a monster, Kivan."

She tried to smile up at him, but she was sure she didn't manage much more than a grimace. Still, she took his stony face in both of her hands and looked him as firmly in the eye as she could.

"And when we find Tazok and kill him …"

She felt his jaw twinge under her touch at that name.

"You won't have to think so either."

He stared at her for a moment, just a moment. And then he opened the door and pushed through without a word.

And she followed.


	59. Chapter 6 Raven Scar

_**Raven Scar**_

The Elfsong Tavern … burned.

Or, at least, that was what Evelyn first thought as she came to an abrupt halt across the street. But as she cast around wildly, seeing the scattered people milling about the streets, staring and pointing curiously rather than excitedly – she realized that the inferno had done its work some time ago. Now, the building was only … burnt.

She looked to the ranger, but his face was as hard as ever. His eyes were fixed to one side of the Tavern, a massive hole burned clean through the stucco walls. Evelyn stared at it in horror for a moment as well, the building seeming to have somehow just melted away around the bore. And then she was pushing her way toward the front doors.

People got in her way, but she just brushed them aside. They were everywhere, and so were the Flaming Fist. The plated men were hurrying about and trying to keep people back and under control, and she thought she heard the one-eyed captain, Grayne, his voice booming above the crowd. She was hardly paying attention, though, pressing on almost desperately toward the stout oaken double doors ahead. Her heart hardened with every step.

A few Fist officers were standing there, one of them easily recognizable by the gaping socket in the one side of his face. That gave her a brief moment's pause – enough time for Kivan to catch her up behind, at least – but it was another man's hand that clapped down firmly on her shoulder. She twisted around instantly and was staring up at another Flaming Fist.

"State yer business, ma'am," he grunted down at her perfunctorily through his conical helm.

"I," she frowned back up at him. "I'm staying here."

"Alright, move along."

He didn't even bother to give her a second glance as he shoved her a step ahead and toward the door. And she didn't bother to waste another moment before ducking past the captain as he sent another man scurrying away into the streets. She slipped quickly inside.

The inn was a mess – a flame-burnt and twisted mess. Shredded chairs and barstools lay everywhere, tables capsized with blasted legs – a full half of the bar had simply vanished – and all along the walls were trailed lines of blasted wood and burst cement, seeming like nothing so much as if something had just sprayed a storm of fire and acid wildly about. There was no blood, though, Evelyn noticed that quickly enough as she slowed, sweeping the room. Or at least, there was very little. It left her marveling, wide-eyed in wonder and worry both, at just what could have gone through all that trouble to do so much damage and leave so few bodies lying strewn in its wake. Kivan, coming warily up at her side, at least, seemed to be wondering that very same thing.

There were Flaming Fist officers inside as well, though few, and men and women in simple clothes were dashing everywhere, fiercely trying to clean up at least some of the devastation that they were lucky had not leveled the entire inn. A few people even sat in one corner that looked all but untouched, seeming to try to enjoy their drinks in peace despite the commotion. The fat innkeeper himself was busy hounding those young inn workers about, mopping the dusty pate atop his head intermittently with a dirty rag.

But then she saw Ajantis. The sight snapped her back out of her sudden shock.

The knight was standing on the other side of the room, speaking quietly to one of the Fist. And she was instantly forcing her way back through the many people dashing about and striding hastily toward him.

The curly-haired man had donned his mail, his helm tucked into the crook of one arm. His face was grim as he nodded toward the officer, the other twisting about and moving briskly away. And then he caught sight of her. Those dark eyes suddenly flew wide.

"M-my Lady!" he barely more than breathed as she moved up to him. "Evelyn!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he suddenly cut her off, throwing his mailed arms about her and abruptly squeezing her tight to him.

"By _Helm_!" he uttered tremulously above her ear. "We had thought they'd taken you too …"

She had stiffened in surprise, nearly stumbling back over as he snatched her up. He was all but shaking in what she hoped was relief as he hugged her. After a moment, she hastily returned the gesture, and then pushed him back.

"What do you–?"

"Are you alright?" he demanded of her instantly, taking her by the shoulders. His eyes quickly looked her over, seeming to find nothing amiss and coming back even more relieved than before – if that was possible. His words started tumbling excitedly free from his tongue.

"I could not find you during the attack! I looked everywhere for you afterwards …" His voice suddenly became quiet, his eyes wavering on her. "God's _blood_, Evelyn! I had thought you _taken_ …"

And then he was snatching her up fiercely once more. After another moment, she started trying to pry herself free.

"Ajantis."

At her voice, he abruptly released her, pulling back. He forced his face to smooth again, and his voice was suddenly hard. "My apologies, my Lady. It is just … good to see you alive and well."

She shook her head. "What happened?"

"Yes," he clapped a hand on her arm, twisting his head back over his shoulder. "You must come with me."

She glanced at the ranger, but he said nothing. And then he followed quietly as the knight started pulling her away.

At first, she thought that they would go upstairs, where she had seen that hole burned through the side of the building and was sure that the destruction would be worse. But instead he led her toward a back corner of the room, where she could see a curtain draping down from the wall across a broad opening. But, what's more, she could see a familiar Elf standing there as well.

"Sweetling," Coran merely flashed her a lop-sided grin as they neared. "It seems you are not the _only_ one who brings trouble to me, snapping at her heels."

That look he gave her seemed almost perverse next to the blood, and bandages, and burns she could see easily scattered about his form. A good deal of his clothes had been tattered, the leathers seeming more than the worse for wear, and old gashes seemed barely to have stopped bleeding about his arms and sides. She looked up at him sharply.

"What happened?"

He only seemed to grin all the wider at that anxious tone in her voice.

"Why, sweetling," he shook his head, "I didn't think you cared …"

"It was an attack," Ajantis said quietly at her side. "Wizards. Five or six of them – it was hard to tell."

She suddenly stiffened at that, casting the man an anxious look. But it was the Elf that spoke next.

"There were five." Coran bobbed his head slowly. "And a pity that. I was just beginning to like the poor girl …"

"What …?"

She tried to snatch the Elf by his tunic, horrified … but then she heard voices beyond the flimsy curtain. She leapt towards it, thrusting it aside with a hand instead and darting through. She came up short.

She was staring down at a body lying on a table – that small space little more than an alcove with the chairs pushed aside. Someone was crouched over it, though, blocking her view. And then four pairs of eyes were suddenly rounding on her.

For a moment, she panicked, and her eyes darted wildly toward the face of that corpse as Jaheira twisted around and away. But then she heard that voice.

"Eve!"

Imoen was rushing her bodily, slamming her hard into a fierce hug back against the wall. She hardly noticed, trembling in awe at the sight of the other woman. Her best friend recovered quickly, however, and tore herself away, stabbing a finger up at her.

"Where were you?" she demanded angrily. But Evelyn wasn't paying attention anymore. Her eyes found the face of that corpse once more.

"Xan …"

She was pushing away from Imoen instantly, and throwing herself down beside the low table and the dead Elf lying there atop it. The druid's eyes never left her as she did.

"Oh, Xan …"

Tears sprung into her eyes, and she felt the walls inside of her suddenly start to come crashing down. His robed form blurred before her as she began reaching both hands toward him, clawing at his still form.

And then she started, jumping back.

His chest was moving.

She stared at the Elf incredulously for a moment, and then twisted around toward the druid. The other woman's gaze was hard, and unrelenting.

"He was badly wounded," the other told her then, and Evelyn tore her eyes away and back towards the Elf. His face was covered in sticky blood, bruises, and burns. His eyes were swollen shut. And Jaheira's voice grew harsh.

"He somehow managed to throw himself in front of the wizards first," she continued chidingly in the younger woman's ear, almost as if she knew that it was all Evelyn's fault. "One Elf against five powerful mages," she was shaking her head. "He is fortunate that they did not care enough to kill him, only force him out of their way."

_Five_ _powerful wizards _…

She squeezed her eyes fiercely shut. But the other was hardly finished.

"Thayans are certainly not known for being so merciful."

And then Evelyn was swiping hastily at those eyes. She twisted them back toward the druid.

"Thayans?"

She barely more than mouthed the word. Jaheira only nodded her head slightly.

"Red Wizards," she added slowly. "Edwin was with them."

The breath suddenly caught in Evelyn's throat, and she turned back toward the wounded Elf. She stared through his chest as it barely stirred, not seeing him at all.

Jaheira's eyes narrowed.

"You knew."

It wasn't a question. Evelyn could hear the suspicion in her voice all too easily. Her gaze flashed back towards the other. She remembered those red robes as she left the Elfsong the night before only too well.

She nodded.

"And when were you planning on telling me?"

Evelyn glanced up and around, finally noticing the two others in that room just then. Khalid was standing close by his wife, gaze fixed silently on them both. Minsc was in the corner, eyes wandering almost aimlessly about as he seemed to be trying desperately to keep from baring his teeth. Imoen had not spoken since her best friend had entered.

She hardened once more.

"Where is Dynaheir?"

Jaheira blinked at the question, studying the younger woman doubtfully for a moment. But then she sighed softly to herself, and looked briefly away.

"It was her they were after," the other woman said.

"Minsc's witch …"

Both of their eyes flashed toward the giant Rashemi, but the man didn't seem to be talking to them. The way his chest was heaving there were he stood, hands flexing as if they would try to suddenly snatch at something, made it almost look as if he would abruptly burst out of his scorched leathers and furs. There was a bright patch of red above that tattoo on one side of his skull to complement the other that had been bandaged the night before. Those two dark eyes darted from first one clenching and unclenching fist to another.

"They seemed to want nothing else," the half-Elven woman continued. "They did what they could to frighten anyone and everyone enough to stay out of their way."

"What about Minsc?"

Jaheira glanced toward the giant man at her gesture once more. She rounded back on Evelyn quickly, though, pursing her lips.

"He was not important enough to them, and too … difficult … to keep at bay besides." The Rashemi's multitude of visible bruises and wounds seemed to testify silently to that. "The Hathran was far too weak to resist overly much."

"Is she …?"

But the older woman was shaking her head before Evelyn could finish.

"They will interrogate her first, I am sure," was all she said. And Evelyn was left staring at her indifferent tone. After another moment, it started to make her angry.

"Where were you, Evelyn?"

The raven-haired woman snapped her jaw back shut. She looked down at the Elf. And then she turned toward the druid once more, hard.

"I didn't know they were Thayans."

They remained there for several long moments, both women glaring hard at the other. Khalid was looking from one to the other, and Xan was breathing ever so softly there atop the table. Minsc ignored them all.

"Eve …"

Imoen took a step toward her from behind, and her best friend suddenly blinked first. She glanced at Xan, and then Minsc. And then her eyes were back on the druid.

"Where are they?"

Her voice was cold.

The other stared at her for a few more moments, searching her eyes. Her face never cracked once. And she looked to her husband of a sudden then.

"Khalid has been trying to find a friend of ours all morning ever since the attack. A man named Entillis Fulsom. He knows this city far better than I." She raised an eyebrow at the other woman. "He gave us the name of someone who might help … but I had yet to decide whether or not the Rashemi worth the trouble."

Evelyn could hear Minsc growl from where he stood at that, but the druid ignored him. Instead, she was fixing intently on the raven-haired woman. And all Evelyn could see in that moment was the giant Rashemi crashing his skull down hard into marble floor, Dynaheir following him soon after. She had let those five wizards walk right past her. She hadn't given it a second thought as she turned her back …

No one was going to die because she had.

She suddenly winced.

No one else …

"I think so."

She was glaring hard at Jaheira. But the other woman hardly seemed to notice. She glanced back toward her husband.

"Khalid."

The half-Elven man stepped forward, taking Evelyn gently by the arm. He urged her back up to her feet.

"W-we must hurry," he told her. "It w-will not take them l-long."

Evelyn looked to Jaheira, but the druid had already turned back down toward the Elf. She began tending to him once more.

Khalid was pulling her away, but she tugged herself back.

"Minsc."

The giant Rashemi glanced up at her, his black eyes anxious.

"We'll find her."

The man gave her a curious look, but then nodded after a moment. As she turned to leave, he moved quickly about after her. Imoen hardly hesitated before following as well.

When she pushed back through the curtain and was back in the common room of the Elfsong Tavern once more, two Elves and a curly-haired knight were waiting.

Evelyn only hesitated for a moment, looking to each of them in turn. Ajantis and Coran were both staring at her, waiting, she thought, and unsure just what it meant for her to emerge trailing Khalid, Imoen, and Minsc in her wake. The ranger had not moved, and his face was as unreadable as ever.

And then she started forward and through.

"We're going to bring her back."

* * *

"Fafhrd."

The other man nodded his head beneath his cowl, and shut the door. After another moment, a latch could be heard on the other side. It opened again, and the man gestured within. The other rogue didn't hesitate before pushing past.

Khalid was next into the room after Niklos, Evelyn at his heels. Once everyone was inside, the man draped in the thick cloak eventually turned, still keeping his face hidden as he crossed to another door on the other side of the rundown home. He gave a series of knocks, which were returned a moment later, and then gave some more. Finally, a small wooden screen slid to one side, revealing a pair of eyes behind the door. They flashed upwards toward the rogue.

"Oy, what's all this then, Niklos?" They suddenly darted past toward the others gathering behind the man in leather. "You bringin' the city guard back down on our heads again, mate?"

"They be here ta see Ravenscar, ye gackin' mather!"

"Aye, aye …" Those eyes were shaking from side to side. "Don't be knowin' nothin' about that. Keep yer scars to yerself, Niklos! No one here be wantin' ta hear what ye shape 'em!"

"Open this here door, Narlen!" Niklos finally slammed a hand hard against the wood. "These ladies and gents no be guards, ye curb pogy! They be sent by–"

"Bloody finks, ye fool! Now leave me door be or I'll be smashin' yer jack nasty face in!"

The little screen suddenly slapped back shut.

And the rogue promptly went to smashing it in with a fist.

A few moments later, the door abruptly swung back on its hinges, and a man was standing there in thick black leathers, his face red and livid.

"Oy! That's it, ye coxcomb!"

Who must have been Narlen sent his fist swinging suddenly then toward Niklos' face. The other rogue ducked swiftly beneath the blow, punching the other man hard in the ribs. After pounding those ribs for a few more moments, Niklos finally forced Narlen roughly aside and back down to the ground.

"Aye," the standing rogue sucked in a breath before turning back to Evelyn and the others. He bowed at the waist, gesturing with a hand. "If ye'll all be followin' after me …"

Evelyn cast a quick glance back over her shoulder, suddenly not so sure of that place or that man that Khalid had assured her would be able to help them find the Thayans that had taken Dynaheir. Coran and Imoen seemed to think little of it at least, the Elf sporting a small smile and her best friend wide-eyed in excitement. Minsc hardly cared at all, still baring his teeth as he seemed to have been doing ever since the Rashemi witch had been taken. Ajantis's hand never left his blade, knuckles white about the hilt at his side. Kivan's face was like stone.

The ranger gave her a hard eye before she could turn back away. She followed Khalid as the half-Elven man stepped through after Niklos, casting an eye to the man writhing and groaning down on the ground. The man in the cowl that had let them in said nothing. He closed the door behind.

Evelyn found herself in what looked like a large common room then, but she didn't have to remember Khalid's warning to know just what it really was. Men were scattered about everywhere, dicing and laughing in some corners, chatting all but inaudibly in others. Tables were spread out haphazardly as well, weapons and gems and trinkets of all kinds scattered out on some, being pawed through and sorted by quick, diligent hands. There was a woman, swaddled in dark leathers, on one side of the room, directing a goodly assortment of what looked like crates of small vials away into an alcove beyond. That one narrowed her eyes at the six armed men and women following Niklos across the room. And then she turned away.

It was a thieves' den. That was what Khalid had told her they would find there. Entillis Fulsom had not known of just where the Thayans were himself, but he had told the half-Elven man just where he might find someone who would. A man named Alatos Thuibuld would be lurking somewhere deep in that shadowy place. It was a thieves' guild. And he was its master.

Not one of those men looked at them. But Evelyn got the distinct impression that they were painfully aware of their presence anyway. It only made her wonder just why they had allowed them in at all – especially with weapons still at their sides. Ajantis was fingering his eagerly, scowling all about him as he did. She was sure it was for what she knew must have been the stolen loot lying all about. She was sure that was what it was. Imoen was almost bouncing on her toes, and the Elves only seemed as on guard, if not more so, than before. Thankfully, though, none of them made a move or said a word. Somehow, she thought there must have been a good reason for why they cared so little about their weapons.

Not one of those men looked at them, and they were already halfway across the room before anyone even seemed to notice. It almost came as a surprise, then, when a hasty hand suddenly pushed into Niklos's chest.

"Hey's, Niklos! Jusst what's ye think yer doin' bringins … guests in here?"

The rogue merely pulled the other man's hand away.

"They be here to see Ravenscar, Husam."

"Oh, they be … be they?" the other man staggered forward a step, replacing his impeding hand. "You's know the boss won't be seein'," he suddenly shoved a clumsy fist to his mouth, belching out the side, "any'un right now …"

But Niklos only forced the man aside again, and the other stumbled over his own feet, toppling down to the floor swiftly.

"'Ey, mind yer own business, ye drunken lout!"

They were pushing on then, leaving the drunken man to lie there, squirming on the ground. Evelyn could only hear Imoen muttering behind her, "He keeps pushing everyone …" And then they were standing before a pair of double doors.

The rogue rounded back on them, suddenly narrowing his eyes. "Alatos won't be wantin' ta see so many armed outsiders all at once." He gestured with a hand, bobbing his head. "I'm sure ye'll all understand."

Evelyn stared back at the man for a moment, and then she nodded her head. She supposed it made enough sense at least.

"Khalid and I will go," she said then, glancing back briefly toward the others. She didn't even get a chance to turn away before Ajantis was suddenly snatching at her shoulder.

"My Lady, no!" he hissed through clenched teeth, hand still on the blade at his side. His eyes darted warily about. "These men are murderers and thieves! They will gut you as soon as you turn your back!" She could see Imoen shaking her head behind him.

"They'd have a harder time of it from the back," Coran muttered behind a hand at the pink-haired woman. Evelyn pushed the knight aside and gestured toward the Elf.

"Then Coran'll come too."

The Elf blinked in surprise, his mouth hanging as he suddenly looked less than pleased. She frowned at that, but he snapped it quickly back shut and Imoen was suddenly glaring at the man's side.

"Eve!"

She gave the other woman a hard eye, though, and then turned it on Ajantis, daring him to argue further. It silenced both of them, the knight's jaw clenching tight as he looked away. Minsc only glared about, and she avoided Kivan as she twisted back around toward the rogue. He nodded after a moment.

"I'm supposin' three'll be alright then."

Niklos rounded on the door, and gave it another series of knocks. As far as Evelyn could tell, they had no pattern to them at _all_. A moment later, those doors cracked open and a man waved them in.

"Coran."

Evelyn glanced back toward the Elf, who had not moved even after Khalid had pushed inside. She raised an eyebrow at him and he started hastily forward, though. Niklos moved to one side, grinning at the others who remained behind. Not one of them returned it. And then they all vanished behind closed doors.

She eyed Coran for a moment as they stepped inside, but the Elf paid her no heed. Aside from Khalid, who had led them to that place and those people, the Elf had been the best choice to take with her. He knew how to survive in that city better than any of them, and she couldn't trust the others not to make a mistake. Ajantis had already shown just how short his temper was, surrounded by thieves, and Minsc was little better. Imoen was no worse than her best friend, but Evelyn was hardly about to make herself stand outside and just wait. Kivan … well, she wasn't sure just why he was still following her. He had said nothing to her since they had left the Blade and Stars. But, as she studied the other Elf, seeming oddly out of sorts at that moment, she started to wonder if she had made the wrong choice. She didn't have long to think it over, though.

The man who had brought them inside gestured them onward, and aside from the three intruders and another man in leathers standing near the opposite side of the doors, there were only two others in that room. Both were gathered near a fireplace ahead, one seated and the other standing with his back to them and gazing into the flames. Aside from that one source of light, the room was almost ominously dark. She wondered, briefly, if there might be even more men lurking in those wavering shadows.

But then Khalid was striding forward, and she was quick to follow. As they neared the other side of the room, she realized the two men there had been speaking. They went silent almost as soon as the three came within earshot.

"That will be all for now, my good friend," one was saying to the other, gesturing idly with a hand. "We will continue this at another time, I assure you."

The robed man who had been standing with his hands clasped behind his back, staring into the fire, turned then, his bearded face hard as he eyed the other sitting at a desk some paces away. And then that man turned around, glaring at the three in turn. He strode briskly toward them, elegant robes billowing, and through them. Evelyn let him brush past, returning the look he gave her. A voice was bringing her back swiftly.

"Welcome, my little friends!" that remaining man was greeting them then with a grand gesture. He swept his arms almost lazily wide, lounging back in a chair with his legs crossed, boots resting up on that desk. "Please … _relax_," he flicked his fingers, "and keep your weapons at your sides. There will be no need for hostility."

The man, who she could only assume was the Alatos Thuibild that they were supposed to meet, had not even looked at them yet, preoccupying himself instead with the thin silver knife he had been tossing up idly into the air as they neared. He took it in one hand then, stabbed it down firmly into the polished wood of the desk beside him, put his hands behind his head, and leaned back, sighing and nearly tipping his chair.

"I simply _must_ apologize for the manner of my thieves." He had squeezed his eyes shut. "I suppose a thieves' guild _must_ keep a certain measure of malice about it, but it does tend to put a cloud over introductions. I am Alatos Thuibuld, though I thank you not to mention that too often." He blinked those eyes back open. "You are Evelyn of Candlekeep, of course, and Khalid, my Harper friend."

Evelyn blinked as well, taken aback at that. She glanced at Khalid, but the half-Elven man seemed unperturbed.

"Be not surprised," continued the thief, "there are very few people in Baldur's Gate I cannot name. You have been here for only a few days, and have already made quite the stir."

But she wasn't so sure about that. And she was all too used to hearing her name on the lips of someone she didn't know before a blade came flashing out for her blood. He had a strange accent too. She had heard them all too often on the tongues of men trying to kill her of late.

"And … Coran?" Alatos cocked his head to one side. "Ah, my good boy, you see fit to visit you're old friend Ravenscar back in the big city, yes? Slinking back there," he made a clicking sound in his throat, waggling a finger. "As if I did not know the very moment you set foot on the bridge."

And then Evelyn was twisting her head about the other way to look at the Elf. He seemed to have stiffened where he stood, and he was grinding his jaw slowly.

"You will have to excuse my good friend Reslar as well," the thief added almost as an afterthought, waving a hand toward where the bearded man had left. "He is Halruuan, and quite temperamental at the moment. A pity that, but my apologies, as I said.

"Now," Alatos shifted, easing back even further and clasping his hands thoughtfully before him. "Just what brings a Harper, a quite obviously misplaced young girl, and a truant thief to my humble place of business? Are you lost, my little friends? Or do you just somehow think yourselves less foolish than you unfortunately are?"

Evelyn glanced from first Coran to Khalid quickly, not liking the sudden change in tone of the man's words at all. The threat was all too obvious, as congenial as it seemed to be, and she remembered Ajantis' words all too well, even if she had been willing to dismiss them to keep him quiet. But the half-Elven man still hardly seemed daunted. Coran was another story.

"We were t-told that you might kn-know where we could find some Th-Th-Thayans," Khalid spoke up then. "Here in the city."

The half-Elven man finished. Alatos stared at him until he did. And then he raised an eyebrow, leaning forward.

"Now," he began slowly, "just why would you be looking for Thayans here in Baldur's Gate …?"

Evelyn didn't even wait for Khalid to answer first.

"They took someone," she told the thief. "A friend of ours."

"Ah … the Hathran."

She blinked. "Yes." She could just see Coran out of the corner of her eye, shaking his head. But she only nodded hers. "We want her back."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes," she offered quickly enough.

There was a long pause then, as Alatos seemed to just study her curiously from where he sat, lounging in that chair. She held her ground in turn, staring back at him and making sure she seemed as intimidating and sure of herself as possible. Eventually, Khalid spoke.

"I-if you are as p-powerful as you th-think, then you would know where they are."

"Oh, I would?" The thief slipped his boots down from atop the desk, setting them firmly upon the floor. "I think you forget just where you stand, Harper. Your kinsmen are not always so all-knowing as they all too often seem to think."

"Ravenscar …"

That silver knife was back in the thief's hand as quick as Eve could blink, and suddenly hurtling toward the Elf. Coran leapt back just as it thunked hard before his feet.

"I did not say you could speak, dear boy."

The Elf sucked in a ragged breath as his eyes flashed back up from the knife toward Alatos, baring his teeth. The thief's face had not even so much as twitched.

"I do not miss."

Evelyn had her hand on the Kara-Turian blade at her side, nearly pulling it free before she realized that the dagger would not have actually struck the Elf. Coran seemed a little less than happy with the thought, though, she noted, he did not seem too quick to speak again after that. Khalid had not moved.

"C-can you help us … or not?"

Alatos rounded back on the half-Elven man slowly. And then he abruptly broke into a grin.

"Perhaps I can at that, my little Harper friend. But the real question is," he tapped a finger to his chin, "just how might you help _me_ in return? Information has its price, all too often an expensive one." He spread his hands wide. "And where would my reputation be if I suddenly began performing favors for my would-be enemies?"

"We can pay you," Evelyn offered hurriedly, remembering Coran's sack of gold that she had left back in the Tavern. She hoped it was still there. The Elf himself only gave her a horrified look to one side.

But the thief merely shook his head slowly, making that clicking sound in his throat once more and pursing his lips. "I have little need of whatever gold you might carry, girl."

"But–"

"But I must assume that you mean to _kill_ these Thayans when you find them, yes?" Alatos spoke on over her. The look Coran was giving her had turned promptly to a withering one. Khalid still kept his eyes fixed firmly on the thief.

"We will likely h-have to, y-yes."

"Yes," the man drawled. "They would seem to present a sort of villainy and wickedness for you to oppose here in the Sword Coast. Whatever could they be here for?" He seemed more amused than curious, though, and his eyes flashed quickly back toward the half-Elven man. "Fortunately, for you, I have grown … irritated … with just how they seem to have imposed themselves upon the inhabitants of this city of late, and I fear what might be more to come. Even a humble thief must concern himself over the strange presence of Red Wizards in his city, and I am more humble than most. I would not mourn them were they to simply … disappear."

"And if we promise to kill them …?"

Evelyn had hardly cared to do anything else given just what they had done – what she had _allowed_ them to do. The thief only canted his head.

"Then I would tell you to be at the Helm and Cloak Inn inside of the hour," he uttered abruptly, disinterestedly, and then turned away back toward his desk. "You will meet a man there – Eldoth Kron." He had taken a parchment from atop the thing and suddenly seemed totally engrossed in it, all but forgetting them. He glanced up long enough to add, "Do not be late."

He waved a hand. "Please, see yourselves out."

But those two men that had stood silently at the doors the whole while moved swiftly to intercept them. They stood to either side, ushering them curtly back. Khalid turned, and then so did Evelyn. And the three started back out from the room.

When they reached the doors, however, Alatos was calling after them.

"Oh!" He extended a hand to them from atop his desk, almost casually. "And Harper?"

Khalid turned briefly back around to face the man. The thief gave him a small smile.

"I always know what is going on in my city, Harper. Always."

His lips twitched. But then his grin was suddenly genuine.

"Have a glorious day, my friends. Glorious."


	60. Chapter 6 Helm and Cloak

_**Helm and Cloak**_

"Minsc."

Evelyn rested a hand on the giant Rashemi's arm, bringing him to a halt. For all his massive bulk, it was not hard. He had been all but trudging along as they made their way across the city to the Helm and Cloak Inn. And now he turned haggard eyes down on her slowly, almost wearily. His anger, it seemed, had all but faded.

"Don't worry," she told him again, trying to sound as sincere as possible and squeezing her hand as comfortingly as she could. It did pitifully little, though – those muscles were like steel. "We're going to get her back."

But the other just shook that great, tattooed head at her.

"Minsc knows," he boomed miserably down at her. "Boo reminds him of how great a friend Evelyn has been to Minsc and his witch. Little Evelyn is a hero. She saved Dynaheir before and will save her again. Minsc has failed her twice. He is no hero."

For a moment, Evelyn was sure he would start weeping there before her. For a moment, she felt the pang of guilt suddenly stabbing at her insides, and it was hard not to wince back up at him. She remembered nearly leaving him to die back in the Cloakwood mines. She remembered turning her back on the help he and Dynaheir had given her so freely just to chase after her own revenge. And look what it had gotten her – what it had gotten _them_. She wasn't worthy of that praise – any of it. But she kept her face smooth.

"You were with me," she tugged the Rashemi back before he could turn away. "You were with me, Minsc. Then, and now. I didn't save her alone."

The other simply stared at her for a moment.

"You are as much a hero as I, Minsc. We'll save her again."

And he blinked at that. He nodded his head slowly.

Before she knew it, Minsc was clapping her hard on the shoulder, nearly taking her off her feet. If nothing else, she staggered a step forward at least.

"Friend Evelyn speaks as Boo does!" He was grinning broadly down at her. "And is worthy of honor to help good friends so! Minsc and Boo will defend little Evelyn with their lives as if one of the mighty witches herself!"

And that face suddenly twisted with rage. He pounded his fist into a hand.

"And Dynaheir's captors will _pay_ with sore backsides for daring to harm one!" His booming voice turned down to a low growl, his eyes staring. "Minsc and Boo and little Evelyn will see it be so …"

Before she could even blink up at him in surprise, the giant Rashemi was striding purposefully away into the common room of the Helm and Cloak Inn. He took up position just beside the door, wary eyes roving diligently about.

She had been wrong. All of his anger had not faded after all. She could have almost hoped that Edwin and the Thayans appeared before them just then. The Rashemi suddenly seemed eager and ready enough to dispatch them all.

She sighed.

The inside of the inn was lavish. For a moment, it made Evelyn blink. The fine-woven carpets and plush green chairs, red-clothed tables and silver tableware – it hardly seemed the fitting place for a meeting with thieves. The bartender, she could see, at least seemed to agree by the few dubious looks he cast them as they entered, all garbed in rough leathers and tunics wrapped in weather-stained traveling cloaks. But, she supposed, at least, that it probably kept out just as many as it let in for those very same reasons. It might have proved as secluded a place as any during the day for them to meet, and a far cry better than another cramped and soiled backalley.

Evelyn glanced around quickly, but there were few enough people in the inn just then to be sure. Most of those were at the bar, hunched over and nursing drinks. No one had even seemed to take notice of them aside from the barkeep as they came in. And his thoughts seemed to be more along the lines of worry toward what they might do to sully that pristine place.

"I guess we just wait," she said at the last, looking briefly back toward the others. They had hurried over from the thieves' den right to where Coran had told them the Helm and Cloak Inn would be, and they certainly still had a handful of minutes left before Alatos' thief might show. Aside from that, though, the Elf had been strangely quiet. And he didn't waste a moment then before striding over immediately toward the bar.

Khalid turned toward her.

"It c-could be a trap. Spread out."

Without waiting to see what they might do, the half-Elven man was moving toward one of those scattered round tables and sitting himself down. Ajantis and Imoen hung back, though, the knight glancing toward her expectantly. She hardly knew what it was that he was expecting, but she finally nodded to him after a moment. He only canted his head back, and then was moving over to join Khalid at the table. Imoen gave her a mock glare, sticking her tongue out, and followed. She shook her head after them.

A hand fell down on her shoulder as she started forward into the room as well, though, holding her fast. She twisted back around, but the ranger was gazing ahead into the room.

"The half-breed is right," he told her quietly. "The thieves might very well intend to just kill us. I would not eat or drink anything."

Evelyn frowned back at him, wondering just why Alatos would bother to send them there at all if he just meant to kill them. It probably would have been easier there in the midst of his thieves. But the other's eyes flashed down toward her, seeming to read something of her thoughts just then.

"I hope you have not forgotten the bounty on your head," he said simply. "I warned you not to come to this city. Far cleaner to have underlings kill us far from his den than risk suspicion." The last he muttered to himself.

But she just squeezed that gloved hand on her shoulder, and looked him hard in the eye.

"Then I'm glad you're here with me."

She didn't have to remove his warding hand. It came away easily on its own. And then she was turning away into the common room.

She slowed as she neared the table where the other three were sitting, but didn't stop. None of them looked up at her, Imoen with her back turned and Ajantis adjusting the sword at his side around his chair. Instead she made for the bar.

"Are you alright?"

There were a few other men at the bar, but she still managed to slip into the one stool left next to the Elf. Coran was busy staring ahead toward the bartender, though, who was bustling after a bottle for what must have been his drink. She leaned forward across the bar, blocking his view.

The Elf flashed a weak grin at her, but she only frowned at him. He had been acting strangely enough since going into that thieves' guild, and she was sure it must have had something to do with just how Alatos had been speaking to him. It sounded as if the two had somehow known each other.

Eventually, that grin subsided, and he looked away. She only eased back down, still fixing him there with her eyes. The barkeep had returned with a small glass for him before he started speaking.

"I am surprised he did not kill me," he clapped the glass down on the counter before turning toward her, "you know?" And then he picked it right back up. "He is not known to be a forgiving man. One learns not to be, in Westgate."

More of that amber liquid passed quickly over his lips, the Elf slamming his head back until there was no more. The glass struck hard on the bar and he forced a harsh breath out as he finished, not looking at her. Instead a hand clapped vigorously on the wood as a few coins slipped out to join the empty glass.

She was still frowning at him as the bartender shuffled back to fetch the bottle once more, muttering as he did so until he saw those coins. Her brow furrowed deep.

"What did you do?"

But he didn't answer her … not until that bottle was tipping over his glass and filling it with more drink. And then he barely spared her a glance as he forced more down and over his teeth.

"Best," he turned his head aside, belching into his sleeve, before coming back, "you not trouble yourself over it, sweetling." He flashed her another weak grin. "You have enough problems of your own. And it is in the past."

She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. And eventually she sighed. She stood up from the stool.

"Be mindful of Kron," Coran's voice followed her as she turned away, however. "He is not the most _wholesome_ of men."

She glanced back toward him briefly, still sitting there with his drink at the bar.

"And you are?" she asked lightly, but hardly keeping the scorn from her voice. She remembered all too well those flirts and forced kisses. At his sudden bark of laughter, she was sure he did too.

"Perhaps not, sweetling, perhaps not."

He was tipping his glass back once more.

As she twisted back away, she thought she heard one of those other men at the bar lean over and start speaking to the Elf. It was something about her, she was sure, and the laugh as that other man clapped Coran hard on the shoulder all but told her as much. But then she noticed the leather-clad form slipping in across from Khalid and Ajantis at the table. It could hardly have been anything else.

Evelyn was hurrying over toward the others, just in time to catch their voices as she neared. She had to pull another chair hastily from one of those other tables and squeeze into the already crowded table next to Ajantis, bringing herself dangerously close to that man that now lounged easily in his own chair. He raised both eyebrows at her as she did so, maneuvering the staff across her back down into a comfortable position. He flashed her a grin when she glanced back up.

"Th-the information?"

The leather-clad man, who she was sure was Eldoth Kron, turned that grin back on the half-Elf then. It grew all the wider. "All in good time, my friends, all in good time. First, a drink."

He raised a hand suddenly, thumping the other down hard on the table as he called out loudly to the barkeep across the room. "Some Berduskan amber wine for my friends and I!" He rolled a finger around to include all of those at the table before him. And then he lowered his voice conspiratorially, leaning forward. "To keep up appearances of course," he flashed them a devious grin, "or else we might seem rather suspicious."

There was quiet for a few moments then, as Eldoth leaned back even further in that chair, one leg bent up over the other with a hand resting on the knee. Evelyn looked around to the others, Khalid and Ajantis both staring at that man merely smiling back at them, Imoen raising an eyebrow at her best friend. Finally, she turned toward the thief.

"Do you–"

"Patience," he cut her off swiftly with a hand, blinking toward her languidly, "patience, dear girl. Some wine first, then we'll talk." She tried not to frown.

When that dour barkeep had finally worked his way over to their table, filling several glasses with wine, Eldoth hardly waited before tipping his back. The bartender waited for a few moments impatiently then, and it wasn't until Khalid had produced some coins for him that the man finally left. The thief only lifted a finger beside the glass at his lips, nodding his head when he had finished.

"You are interested in some red-robed magicians plying their trade here in the city, I imagine," he said at the last, glass pounding into clothed wood.

"We p-promised to take c-care of them in exchange."

Ajantis gave the half-Elf a sidelong look, but he knew what Alatos had told them well enough. If knowing the Thayans were undoubtedly far less than good wasn't enough, then kidnapping a defenseless woman should have been. But the knight only turned that withering look on the thief. Murder, as he had told her so vehemently again and again on the way over … was murder. She wasn't quite so sure he understood.

"He has had me keep an eye on them while in the city," Eldoth was saying, his face suddenly serious. "I can show you where they are, as well as give you a good idea of their defenses."

"What defenses?" Ajantis demanded of him instantly. The thief only gave the knight a curious eye.

"Slaves, mostly," he gestured with a hand. "A few brutish Gnolls keeping them guard. Not many, though. Seemed as if they were looking to set up one of their 'enclaves' here in the city." He draped an arm back over the chair. "Illegal trafficking of goods, more slaves, whatever the locals enjoy and the Dukes cannot publicly stand. You know …"

"H-how many are there?"

Evelyn glanced across the table to Imoen. The other woman was mouthing the word 'Gnolls' at her and giving her a worried frown. She did not think that it was so much for the thought of meeting with the wolf-headed beasts again, though. Dynaheir had been taken captive twice now, and both times they had had to rescue her from Gnolls.

"Aside from the few bodyguards?" Eldoth mused, shrugging. "Just the five wizards."

"Five wizards …"

Ajantis growled low in his throat, scowling. But he hardly had time to complain any more. The front doors to the inn suddenly slammed back upon their hinges. The knight was twisting instantly around.

Six men in mail and leathers came trudging into the room, an arsenal of weapons hanging from belts and hips and backs. They hardly paid anyone any mind other than to spare a brief glance about. And the knight only spared them a scornful glare in return.

"Mercenaries," he spat, hand on the hilt of his blade. Khalid had his eyes still fixed on the rogue across the table.

One of those mercenaries, sheathed in plate mail with a double-bladed axe belted to one side, a sword the other, and a shield across his back, turned briefly toward Minsc beside the door, giving him an appraising look. The Rashemi turned his black eyes down hard on the other man, but the mercenary was nearly as tall as he, and just as much muscle. After another moment, he cracked a smile, and turned away.

Something prodded Evelyn beneath the table, and she started suddenly in her seat. For a moment she had let her eyes wander to where the ranger was lurking in another corner of the room, and then she was twisting hurriedly back toward the table and around. When her eyes finally found Eldoth, the thief only grinned at her before turning to switch the full glass before Imoen with his own while she was looking away.

When it reached his lips, he abruptly froze.

"Look away!"

The thief was suddenly snatching at the knight's mailed hand. Ajantis twisted back around, as did the others, and shook the man off with a wince. Khalid edged forward.

But Eldoth said nothing. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on those six men as they stomped past them through the common room toward the bar.

The thief wasn't the only one to not heed his own words, though. And Evelyn was hardly the last to watch curiously as the mercenaries came to a halt just at the edge of the common room where it branched off toward those men drinking at the counter atop their stools. There was only the one seat left – the one Evelyn had taken next to Coran earlier herself – and five more filled up by the Elf as well as four other men. None of them seemed to be paying the six newcomers any heed.

The one man at their lead – the one in plated mail and an armory on his back – lumbered a step forward of a sudden, eyes falling heavily down upon those men at the bar, and leaving the others behind. After a moment, his bluff face twisted into a scowl.

"Clear the way!" he bellowed loudly down at those men and Coran of a sudden, and then pounded a fist into his metal chest, "for _Gretek_ and the Maulers of Undermountain!"

The room was deathly silent for a moment, and if everyone had not been staring at those six before, they certainly were now. The barkeep had started muttering to himself, and retreated a few steps back toward the racks of wine and ale behind him. But one of those four men only glanced casually back over his shoulder.

"If you truly be maulers of Undermountain, Gretek," that one chided loudly right back, "you can clear your own way. We don't sweep the streets before common braggarts." He turned back toward his ale.

"What?" the large one – Gretek – demanded abruptly, thundering another step forward. "Gorpel _Hind_?" He seemed incredulous.

The man at the bar who had spoken – Gorpel Hind – only lifted his glass high, not looking back. "And his band of Merry Fools – the one and the same. Drink up, my friends, drink up!" He abruptly turned that glass toward the three other men gathered along the counter beside him. "The air in here isn't suddenly so fresh!"

Evelyn caught sight of Imoen rounding briefly back towards her, a hand covering one side of her mouth. "Undermountain," she whispered hurriedly over at her best friend, "that's in Waterdeep!"

"I know that." Evelyn only shook her head. Ajantis joined her to one side, adding a scowl to go along with it.

"They dishonor her."

"Ho, HO!" Gretek was casting about back toward his five companions, barking a laugh. "It seems we've finally found our gutless fellows. Band of Merry Fools!" he spat. "Tell me, Hind," he sneered down at the smaller man, "just how much gold do you have left to drink away? You certainly seemed to have sharpened your wit, if not your blade, since Ragefast cut your service short!"

Now the other man had turned completely around in his stool, leaning back with both elbows on the bar as he faced the larger mercenary. The smirk on his face complemented the leer on the other's quite nicely.

"And what of you, Gretek?" Gorpel cocked an eyebrow. "I should say I have a good deal more gold to waste than _you_, my loutish friend. At least the good wizard saw fit to pay us our due. Perhaps Ramazith was not quite so satisfied with ham-fisted efforts …?"

"How _dare_ you!" the other growled back, narrowing his deep-set eyes. "As if that mess was any of our fault, Hind …"

The smaller man only spread his hands wide, shrugging. "I don't remember being the ones to start throwing fists and hammers at innocent passersby, do you, Farluck?" He abruptly nudged the man beside him, who shook his head.

"Not us, Gorpel."

"What about you, Turpin?"

"Too busy shootin' brainless fools, Hind."

"Nelik, my friend?"

"Remember Gretek takin' a poor bastard right off his feet. Old codger musta been hundred summers gone at least – that's 'bout it, mate."

"There, you see," Gorpel Hind glanced back toward the large man in plate. "Wasn't me or me fellows making that mess for the Fist to clean up."

"They were in … our … way," Gretek was snarling softly.

"Oh, yes," Hind spoke quickly on. "Suppose we couldn't have expected much less from brutes willing to butcher a Nymph for a mad wizard's experiments. I imagine you have some experience there, though, my friend? How _is_ our dear old Halaster?"

Gretek started to open his mouth, but the man at the end of the bar – Nelik – suddenly spoke up over him.

"Probably infuriated the old bat too, Hind! Would be my guess why they're still alive and so damned bloody ugly!"

"Aye!" another of the four barked a laugh, "wizard's curse!"

"The only curse there was the one his bloody mother called on Beshaba when she finally had to tell her panderer something'd gone wrong!"

"Enough!"

"Oh, and just so you know, Gretek," Gorpel managed to stop laughing long enough to speak, "the only reason Ragefast dismissed us was because we let you live. Consider it … a favor," he raised his glass toward the other, "from one honest man after a little coin to another."

"I said enough!" the larger man abruptly stomped a foot into the floor. All of the glasses on the counter and the bottles on the wall rattled back.

Gretek drew suddenly close to the other, bearing furiously down on him where he still leaned back against the bar. "Consider it a favor, then," he spat, mere inches from Hind's face, "when I let you, and your fools, leave this bar … _alive_."

"Oh, come now, Gretek!" Gorpel was shaking his head. "My Fools and I are enjoying this bar quite well at the moment. And we _both_ know you don't have enough coin between you to buy a measly pint. I am afraid you'll just have to wait …" His head was bobbing mockingly at the last.

Before the smaller man could spin back around and away toward the bar, though, Gretek was snatching him up roughly by the arm.

"It just so happens we have a _new_ contract, Hind." The plated man was bearing down even harder on the other once more. "And we are celebrating our advanced pay! Now you and your frolicking buffoons had better move from our favorite _seats_," he hissed, "before we get it into our minds to move you ourselves … No one stands between the Maulers and their ale!"

Gorpel Hind opened his mouth, still smirking at the other even though a fistful of his tunic was in the man's hand, but another proved swifter. Coran was suddenly twisting around toward the two men then.

"Now just," the Elf gestured placatingly with a hand toward the plated one, "just wait a moment." He shook his head almost wearily, giving the larger, scowling man a disappointed look. "There's enough bar here for everyone," he told him. Gretek glanced from first one to the other, but Coran only made a clicking sound in his throat. "Everyone of importance just happens to be here already." He shook his head once more. "I'm afraid you'll just have to wait until were good, and drunk, and ready to move on our merry way." He shrugged helplessly at the last, and Hind barked a laugh.

For a moment, Gretek actually blinked at him. For a moment, it seemed as if the large mercenary hardly knew what to do. But in the next moment, he made up his mind. He sent a fist swinging right into the Elf's face.

Coran flew free from his stool and tumbled over into the wall. And Gretek was suddenly twisting back around toward the five behind him.

"Ready here, men!" he snapped. "We have some _garbage_ to pick up!"

Hind had a fist slamming him hard in the side of the head before he could even turn back around.

Evelyn was on her feet in an instant, tearing away from the table beneath her. She leapt around Eldoth's chair, hurtling toward Coran where he lay upon the ground. Someone else reached him first, though. One of those six mercenaries snatched him up by the front of the tunic, hauling him roughly back to his feet.

"Stop it!"

The words had barely left her mouth before someone abruptly shouldered her in the side, taking her clear off her feet and sending her crashing into the wall. Coran got little better, she saw in the next moment, as he flew up off the ground and slammed down hard atop the bar. Gorpel Hind sailed right over it just beyond, crashing into the wine racks behind.

"RAAAHH!"

Evelyn pulled herself back up to her elbows, wincing as she saw Gretek roaring on the other side of the bar, already lunging at another of Hind's friends. Somewhere, the barkeeper was howling madly at them all, and Coran was desperately pounding the man choking him against the counter in the head with a fist. She only looked up suddenly as two hands came darting in for her coat.

Her boot came up instantly, slamming hard against the man's chin and sending him staggering back. She leapt back to her feet, but the blow didn't hold him long. He was lunging at her before she could even blink.

Ducking low, she spun around beneath his grasping arms, snatching up a wrist in her hand and pulling it swiftly to one side. The man kept going, though, and as she pulled up, forcing him down, he flipped right over himself, back thumping hard to the floor.

She twisted back around toward Coran. One of the mercenaries suddenly sent another man sliding down across the bar and tumbling over in front of her with a cry. She only spared the fallen man a glance before leaping at the one holding the Elf. Both fists swung high over her head and came slamming down hard on the back of that one's skull. He collapsed forward onto the bar.

"Are you alright?"

The Elf hardly heard her shouting at him. Instead he clutched a half-filled glass and the bar firmly in both his hands, and smashed the one quickly over the other man's head. He slipped over and down to the floor with a grunt, and Coran thrust himself away, swaying on his feet.

"_Fine_," he spat at her, eyes fluttering as he nearly bowled her over. She caught him, though, and managed to keep both of them from going down. Light suddenly came screaming at them out of nowhere.

Both of them went down, the Elf nearly collapsing over her. She looked up sharply, but only to see one of the other mercenaries shouting something at them as more light sprung into his hands. Before it could leap forward again, though, a fist was suddenly slamming hard around into his face. It sent him sprawling back into the wall behind, and he tumbled quickly down to the ground.

Minsc was rounding back upon them then, dark eyes worried as he studied her and the Elf there upon the ground. He opened his mouth to cry something down at them, but a stool bursting into kindling over his back silenced him swiftly enough.

Evelyn felt hands beneath her lifting her up, and she twisted her head aside long enough to see Kivan behind her. Ajantis and Imoen were pulling Coran back to his feet beside them.

The man that had struck Minsc flew back into the bar and nearly over it, but another man jumped on him and started swinging away before he could fall. And then a familiar plated form was flying at the Rashemi, gauntleted fists flying. The two were wrestling on the ground within moments.

Evelyn started to slide the Kara-Turian blade free at her side, leaping forward, but the ranger wrapped her in a grip of iron around the stomach, holding her fast. "No," he breathed in her ear. "No blood." She twisted her eyes back around, glaring at him incredulously. But he did not let her go.

There was only one man left on his feet, and that one opened his mouth, chanting something as he extended a hand down toward some of the others rolling about in debris upon the ground. But a scimitar slipped in at his neck and silenced him quickly. Khalid forced him back and up against the wall on his toes.

Minsc leapt back to his feet, teeth bared as he abruptly bent back down. A large, plated form came up in both his hands next, but he only spared a moment to howl loud before sending it hurtling up and over the bar.

And then everything was still for just a moment.

Evelyn let out a deep breath, glancing to one side to see Coran finally recomposing himself there on his feet. Ajantis and Imoen let him stand on his own once more. And Khalid let his blade drop, releasing the man against the wall. Before that one could even ease his stance, though, the half-Elven man had clubbed him in the side of the skull with a fist. He tumbled down to the ground.

A man forcing a loud, ragged breath on the other side of her brought Evelyn twisting instantly back around, only to see Gorpel Hind standing there. She blinked at the man surveying the carnage, certain that he should have been crushed under Gretek behind the bar. She didn't have a clue just how he had gotten behind her.

"Thank you, my friends," the man managed between pants in the next moment, smiling to one side as he dusted himself off. "We have been honored by your presence today and timely intervention." He straightened himself abruptly. "Never knew Gretek and his brutes to be ones for a fair fight."

He clapped a hand to the ranger's shoulder behind her, nodded toward Coran, and then started forward to help his three companions back to their feet. Eldoth replaced him in an instant.

"These men were working for the," he paused a moment to belch, "the Thayans." Evelyn glanced quickly back to the table, noting that the man had conveniently finished off just about all of their glasses. And then she twisted back around toward him, eyes wide.

"What?"

But the man wasn't listening. Instead his eyes suddenly started twisting thoughtfully every which way. And then he was bouncing excitedly on his feet. "Brilliant," he muttered to himself before leaping forward.

Evelyn only shook her head, frowning at the thief as he quickly leapt over the bar, ignoring the ranting bartender, and started pawing at Gretek's semi-conscious form. A moment later, he had some kind of crumpled paper in his hand, smoothing it out hastily against his knee. He rounded back on them with a grin as wide as it would go.

"Brilliant!" he cried at them, leaping back to his feet and shaking that paper. "I'm bloody brilliant!"

Evelyn could only stare, and so could the others from what she saw. Imoen was giving her an eye from one side and Ajantis was scowling at the rogue, but Khalid only picked his way carefully over across the debris, frowning curiously.

Eldoth seemed to take notice of the wreckage about him then, casting about quickly. And then he leapt back over the bar.

"I suggest we displace to somewhere more friendly," he told them hurriedly, suddenly serious, "before the Fist takes it in mind to come down hard on _all_ of us."

He rounded back on the bartender, who was wide-eyed and all but pulling out his hair over the mess and the writhing bodies scattered about him. "Make sure you call the Fist on these troublemakers," he shouted at the man. "Hope they spend a long, cold night in a cell!"

And then the man was hastening away toward the door, paper in hand. He didn't even waste a moment more to warn them to follow. All she could hear as he vanished through that door was another, "Brilliant!"

Khalid gave her a hard eye. And then he turned and followed the rogue without another word. Evelyn only sighed, and hurried after.

She wasn't so sure she agreed.


	61. Chapter 6 Subtleties of Thay

_**Subtleties of Thay**_

Eldoth shrugged, and knocked on the door.

The others waited. The streets of Baldur's Gate were thinly filled with the passing early afternoon crowds, on their way to more important business elsewhere than that little corner on the west side of the city. Even so, the thief at their fore gave a furtive eye about along the way, eyebrow arched as if he expected something to show. His gaze settled briefly on Evelyn, and he broke into a grin before winking.

The door opened.

A stern-faced older man poked his bald head out, followed by the rest of his lean form, draped in loose-fitting red robes. Evelyn stiffened where she stood, her face still impassive, and Eldoth rounded back instantly upon the door. Then they started speaking.

The words were lost to her. Only the Elves, Khalid, and Ajantis stood with the thief outside the door. Two women would have seemed odd enough, and Minsc would have been recognized for what he was, they were sure. Hopefully none of the others' faces would seem familiar from just that previous night. She wondered if that robed man would even notice that there were only five.

She twisted briefly back around toward Imoen and Minsc hiding there as well with her just around the corner. Imoen was craning her neck to keep sight of the others while crouched down and leaning against the building opposite, the giant Rashemi hulking further down in the shadows inside the alleyway. Either way they were unlikely to be seen. She could hope. She turned back toward the streets.

The Red Wizard – she knew that was what he was – had taken a step out before the others, inspecting them with a dubious frown. She didn't like the look of that … she didn't like it at all.

But then he was suddenly looking at her.

She wrenched herself over and away in an instant, as far from sight as she could possibly go as her breath abruptly caught in her throat. For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut, hardly daring to breathe. She ran the image over and over in her mind – until she had convinced herself that he had not seen her, could not _possibly_ have seen her. He had only been turning about toward her … she had moved before his eyes had caught anything. And when she opened her own eyes again, Imoen was frowning at her.

"What?"

Evelyn shook her head, dodging both of them as Minsc suddenly perked at her side. Instead she crept one eye back about the corner once more.

The door closed.

"They're inside."

Imoen was up and instantly peeking past her. Minsc had a hand on the hilt of that massive blade across his back. But there was no sign of Coran or Kivan or Khalid on the streets anymore. Whatever had happened, the Thayan had taken them inside.

She could feel her best friend tensing up beside her. But it was in excitement, not fear or worry. Evelyn tried not to think about what might happen if the wizard had seen her. She just forced all thought of it angrily from mind.

As the minutes stretched on, however … they started to worm their way back in.

Eventually, Imoen spoke.

"Eve?"

The pink-haired woman was still staring ahead at the doors, while Evelyn had retreated back a few steps and started gnawing on her bottom lip. She glanced up as the other's eyes moved over to meet hers.

"What?"

"Where were you last night?"

She asked the question slowly, frowning ever so slightly as she did so. It hadn't been the one the raven-haired woman had been expecting. She hardly knew what to say. Her jaw started to work. But she took too long.

"Where's Yeslick?"

At that, her mouth clamped shut. She squeezed her eyes shut. And when she opened them once more, her face was hard.

Imoen started to ask something more, but then they both started at the sudden noise. The pink-haired woman thrust herself back around the corner. After a moment, she was leaping out into the street.

Coran was there, one foot hanging out from the building. He made no motion toward them, just stood there grimly glancing about to the few people moving past. The door swung wider as the three neared, Imoen darting through first, and then Evelyn and Minsc. The Elf closed it tight behind.

They were in a hallway. It sprawled out before them, marble stretching away and ahead beneath toward a large set of double wooden doors at the end. Fine columns dotted the hall, more passages winding away to either side. Six Gnolls lay strewn about the floor.

They were dead. Evelyn noticed that readily enough. Arrows and blades and knives had gutted each, bleeding wounds dotting each still form as they lay with tongues lolling out to the alabaster stone. Kivan, Khalid, Eldoth, and Ajantis all stood silent there in the midst of it.

"Where is the wizard?" Evelyn asked as she came up short, Imoen, Minsc and Coran nudging past. The giant Rashemi only stopped to bare his teeth down at those dead forms. Thankfully, none of the others seemed to have been hurt.

Khalid raised an arm and pointed toward the end of the hall without looking.

"The man showed us the grounds he would have us patrol," the knight was saying. "He left shortly after that."

"A wonder they do not have a Golem," Coran muttered as he passed.

"We have a problem."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at the ranger, but it was Khalid who spoke.

"Th-they have warded the doors."

"What?"

She blinked at the half-Elven man. Ajantis was scowling at his side.

"They are hiding inside."

"Most likely torturing the girl," Coran added at his elbow. The man's face only twisted deeper furrows. Minsc looked up sharply.

"They are not so foolish as you might have hoped," Kivan muttered. He slung his bow back over one shoulder. But the giant Rashemi hardly seemed daunted.

"No door will stand between Minsc and his witch!" He pounded a fist into his hand, seething. He had already started to turn away.

"Magical wards," the ranger chided as the larger man passed. The Elf was tapping a boot to one of those Gnoll corpses.

"Minsc."

The Rashemi had not stopped. But he did at the sound of Evelyn's voice. She looked back to the others.

"They trust mercenaries no more than they should," Coran was saying, and Evelyn only nodded. They had been lucky enough that the Red Wizards had cared too little about their hired thugs to see those five others for what they were. And it certainly was not the true Maulers of Undermountain. By the time they figured that out, she hoped, it would be far too late. From what Eldoth had told them, the Maulers had yet to have any dealings with the Thayans other than the message that had been delivered to hire them.

"We have to find a way in."

She started speaking, but two hands clapping loudly together interrupted her. Everyone looked instantly to the thief.

"Well," he rubbed those hands briskly, grinning, "_my_ work here is certainly done." He made a friendly gesture and then started pushing his way through them toward the door. "If you all will please excuse me."

No one said anything at first. But the man did not get more than a few steps before someone finally did.

"What, Eldoth?" Coran suddenly voiced incredulously after him. "Since when do Ravenscar's thieves flee the house after breaking in the door? I am sure there are enough baubles scattered about to interest even a gutter rat with a pretty voice."

The man glanced back over his shoulder, cracking another smile as he did so.

"Afraid Ravenscar told me only to make sure you got in the front door. And I'm not one to challenge old Ravenscar's orders." He turned away again, but paused for a moment, waggling a finger. "Or to risk my life chasing wizards."

"I would have expected as much," the Elf drawled right on, "from a coward." And the thief slowed quickly in his tracks once more.

"You know," he rounded back on the other man, a chiding finger tapping against his brow, "I would not be one to call another coward, old friend, if I myself could not claim to be anything better."

"I hope you do not ever intend to do just that then, old _friend_."

"Oh I don't," Eldoth shook his head right back. "But how _is_ the old girl, dear Coran? Brielbara doing well, I trust?"

Coran's jaw cracked.

"I thought not." The thief sighed. "Perhaps you'd best check your conscience again, friend," his eyes flashed briefly, "and find another bounty to chase away your problems."

The Elf didn't say anything more. After another moment, Eldoth had turned on his heel, and left. Evelyn glanced quickly toward Coran, but his eyes were wide and angry. He was staring after the thief as he vanished through the door.

"We have to find another way in," she repeated, looking away. Khalid nodded his head.

"There are f-four doors."

"The wizard showed us before he left us alone with the beasts," the knight told her.

"All warded." The ranger looked up briefly.

"Are they all inside?" she asked. The half-Elven man nodded once more.

"And so is she."

Minsc tensed up beyond them. For a moment, Evelyn expected him to take back up his plan to smash in the doors again. She could almost have thought it a good idea just then. But Imoen suddenly spoke.

"They have to come out sometime, don't they?"

The pink-haired woman cast about expectantly toward the others, but Kivan just grunted.

"By then she will be dead."

"We don't know that," Evelyn continued on hastily over him. And then she stopped. They didn't have a whole lot of choices at least. Khalid was picking up impatiently before she could speak again, however.

"We d-don't have time. We e-each take a door and l-look for a way in." He was starting away into one of those other hallways before anyone could answer, scimitar slipping into hand.

"You are with me."

Kivan's hand was snatching at her arm before Evelyn could even speak, pulling her away. Imoen started to follow, but Eve swallowed her surprise and gestured toward the towering Rashemi instead.

"Stay with Minsc!" she called back to the other woman. Imoen slowed only after her pointed look, nodding her head then before turning quickly back around. Bouncing impatiently on her feet for only a moment more, Evelyn was hurrying away after the ranger.

The compound was not large, and the hallway made an easy perimeter around the whole building. Still, she had not been the one to scout them earlier, and it was the Elf ahead of her who seemed to know just where they would go. She wasn't sure what Khalid meant for them to do, though, and Kivan was right. Gnolls might have been a simple thing to deal with compared with magically sealed doors. And if they waited too long … well there was little hope that the Thayans would keep Dynaheir alive long after that given even what little she knew of them.

If only they had Dynaheir _with_ them …

_Or Xan_.

She bit the thought angrily and spat it back out and away. There was nothing to do for that now. It would only slow her down. And the Elf was flying along fast enough for both of them.

When she was sure they had neared the opposite side of the building, though, Kivan finally started to slow enough so that she could catch up.

The Kara-Turian blade slipped easily free. She was just about to fly around the next corner when the ranger abruptly threw himself backward from it. He caught her with a hand, hauling her back and up almost off her feet. And then he tossed her roughly back against the wall. Another hand had clapped over her mouth before she could even cry out in surprise.

He gave her a warning eye, but it still took her a few moments to still herself. And when she did, she heard just what he must have. Voices.

The other held her firmly until she had finally settled and quieted, and then he let her go. He darted a quick glance around the corner before coming back.

"Two wizards," he whispered hurriedly back at her.

"Did you kill all the Gnolls?" she asked, hardly bothering to keep the excitement from her voice.

"Yes."

He slipped the bow out from around his shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

He paused, giving her a sharp look.

"Do those sound like Gnolls to you?"

And she narrowed her eyes right back.

She pushed past him, edging over toward the corner herself. He started to hiss another warning at her, but she didn't listen. And as she twisted around him to get a better look, he stilled, rolling his eyes irritably away.

There were two of the wizards standing far down the hallway alright – right in front of one of the four doors that led into that inner sanctum. One of them, she hardly knew except as that same older man from the door. The other, though, she recognized all too quickly.

"Edwin."

The ranger perked beside her at the name, and then started to ease himself over to see above her. She hardly noticed. It was all she could do to hear their words from the other end of the hall. Thankfully, they were being anything but quiet.

Edwin was fuming at the other wizard, that one with gnarled wrinkles creasing his stern face crowned with golden tattooes atop its skull. The younger man was red in the face and all but snarling, the other cool and composed and facing that ranting tide down as if it were nothing. Eventually, the older one raised a hand.

"Enough, Edwin."

"But she is mine to interrogate!" the bearded man snapped back irritably. "I was given this task. Me!" He stabbed a hand toward the ground. "I will not be cast aside like some _fool_ apprentice. Zulkir Nevron will–!"

"Zulkir Nevron," the other spoke firmly over him, "would never even have received word of success … had it not been for our timely intervention." He leveled the younger mage with a stern eye. "This is not your task," he continued, "anymore. You saw to that when you professed your own incompetence and inability in begging for our aid in this matter. Really, Edwin," the other chided irritably, "you embarrass us all by letting yourself be thwarted by one, little witch. An_ Ethran_, no less."

But Edwin's face only twisted all the more.

"It was more than just–"

"I said enough, Edwin!" That hand came up again, and the younger wizard actually clamped his mouth shut. "Really, you are fortunate. Be grateful that I might not see fit to report of your failure to Zulkir Nevron."

Evelyn hefted the Kara-Turian blade in her hand, and canted her head toward the ranger. When she tried to leap around the corner, though, he slammed her back hard against the wall.

"_What–_?"

"Quiet."

They waited a few more moments, and then he poked his head back out to see. She followed swiftly after.

The older wizard was just twisting his own head impatiently back toward Edwin.

"Cease that muttering, you witless fool," he snapped, turning away. "And see to those barbarous mercenaries! It is _your_ fault we need worry so much more for intrusion."

The door opened, and Evelyn instantly tried to break free from the ranger's grip. He held her tight once more, however, and squeezed even tighter.

"_Kivan_!"

But the Elf didn't let her go. Instead he wrapped a hand around her mouth, silencing her swiftly. She started to struggle, readying an elbow and wondering if the blade in her hand would do better. But then the door was closing. She could hear the latch from there. And, with it, she felt herself slump.

The ranger was hissing in her ear.

"Did you really expect to surprise two wizards with that much room between you?" He shook her. "You are not nearly frightening enough for that."

She abruptly tensed. "If you helped …"

"What about the others?" he snapped beside her head, her eyes flinching angrily shut. "What happens when you bring the rest of the wizards down upon us? Even _if_ you managed to take those two …"

She was grinding her teeth. After a moment, he let her go, and she hopped a step away before rounding back on him quickly with the Kara-Turian blade. For a moment, she glared heatedly up at him. And he just stared coolly right back. But then she heard someone striding down the hall towards them, muttering loudly the whole way. It could only have been the one.

The curved blade slid back into its sheath at her side. And then she twisted away from the ranger and back toward the corner. Without another word, she stepped around it … and right into the hall.

"Hello, Edwin."

The ranger tried to stop her. But she had been out of reach before he could even try. And then he froze, tucked up there tightly against the wall, slipping a short blade into hand.

The wizard looked up … and slowly came to a halt. He stopped muttering, and his mouth hung open. His eyes went wide.

Evelyn lowered her chin and stared at the other as hard as she could. She liked to think the step he suddenly took back then was because of that look on her face. She even ventured a smile.

"You took something from me, Edwin." She lowered her head toward him. "And I want it back."

The man was pushing his feet backward, trudging slippers leadenly as he tried to jerk his tense muscles back down the hallway. His jaw was moving desperately as if he would speak. And Evelyn just started forward after him.

She had to reach him before he started speaking, before he started chanting at her. But all thought of that had seemed to flee from his mind with those faltering steps he was so frantically trying to take back and away from her. Just as it seemed as if she would have to chase him down after all, though, Kivan was suddenly leaping out between them.

Edwin actually _did_ manage a sound then – a sharp cry as the ranger abruptly hauled him up by the front of his robes and slammed him over against the wall. That short blade slipped in at the wizard's throat.

"Where is the girl?" Kivan hissed at the other, baring his teeth mere inches from the man's face. Evelyn frowned at the Elf, but stepped up quickly at his side.

That familiar sneer had begun to work its way back into Edwin's face at the sight of the ranger, but it slipped quickly away as Evelyn pushed in beside him. She kept her face as smooth as possible.

"Where is she, Edwin?" She kept speaking slowly, almost languidly. He started to tremble. "Where is Dynaheir?"

He did not speak for a few moments. Some of that hardness bled back into him as he suddenly seemed to realize just what was happening. His eyes started to narrow. But then Kivan was pounding him back into the wall.

"Answer her."

"GAH!" he cried out angrily as his back struck, and then he was baring his teeth back at the ranger. "_Stupid_ monkey! Do you even know where you are? What you face?"

"A dead man," was all the Elf said. He pressed the blade closer, and the wizard craned his neck back as far as he could.

"Edwin."

Those eyes flashed back down toward hers, fear and anger whirling violently around there within. She just smiled sweetly up at him.

"I'm only giving you one chance to tell me …"

She started to lift a hand slowly, reaching it towards him. His eyes went even wider, and he suddenly started panting there in the rangers grasp even as he shook all over. He tried vainly to stretch himself even further away.

"Inside!" the wizard gasped. "With the others!" He was struggling desperately against the Elf's grasp. "They are questioning her _now_!"

The blade bit into flesh before the man finally stilled, and Kivan only gave her a sidelong look. She ignored it. She just let her hand pluck idly at the hem of his robes as he watched.

"You're going to let us inside, Edwin," she told him softly, starting to get just a little unnerved by how easily she terrified him. His wild eyes were fixed in horror on those hands so close to him. "You're going to remove the wards on _all_ the doors."

He was trying to shake his head before she could even finish, but she only let her fingers dance up toward his throat. It silenced him swiftly enough, but it was all she could do to keep a straight face. Something inside of her was starting to respond to all that taunting. It thought it something less than empty threats.

"Yes … yes!" The Thayan was trying to bob his head within the ranger's grasp, despite the blade at his throat. A light of hope gleamed in his eyes. She could see it. And she knew just what he must be thinking then.

She gave the ranger a pointed look, but he just glared heatedly back at her in turn. After a few moments of silent glaring, he finally let the other go and stepped back. The wizard crumpled down instantly to the marble floor.

"Go warn the others and hurry back," she whispered quickly to the Elf so that Edwin wouldn't hear. Kivan only gave her a hard look in return. But she was already easing herself down in front of the Thayan.

"Do you really think I'm afraid of four more little wizards, Edwin?"

The man blinked up at her, and she could see some of that hope flee instantly from his eyes. It was becoming an effort to keep up that act. But whatever Coran might have thought of it, it was working at least. She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Hurry."

The ranger only spared her another hard eye. And then he was hastening away and back around the corner.

"If you thought I, Edwin Odesseiron, powerful," the wizard was telling her, and she rounded back on him swiftly. His face started twisting in the beginnings of what would have been scorn. "Then you face five Red Wizards, all almost equally so!"

He managed an expectant grin up at her, thoughts of just what the others might do playing visibly across his eyes. But she just smiled deeply right back, and drew even closer until she was mere inches from his face.

"Four Red Wizards, Edwin." She tapped a finger to his nose, and he flinched. "You'll be dead."

At that, he stayed quiet. And she enjoyed some peace while he huddled there on the ground, her close enough to stop him should he work up the courage to try and start muttering magic at her. After several long minutes, the ranger came back.

"Ready," was all he said at her expectant look. And she stood back from the wizard. Kivan took two fistfuls of the bearded man's robes and hauled him instantly back up to his slippered feet.

"Open the door, _wizard_," the Elf growled as he started forcing the other along down the hallway. "And if you do not do as you are told, you will be dead before you can even so much as utter a cantrip."

Kivan tapped a finger to the bow slung across his shoulder, and the Thayan must have remembered something of the Wood of Sharp Teeth so long ago and just what the ranger could do. His face tensed up into a milky white mask beneath his beard.

"I'm looking forward to it …," she chimed in as sweetly as she could from behind them as they moved. The wizard stiffened even more. Thankfully, he could not see her face just then. She had some time to recompose herself before they reached the double doors.

"And just think, Edwin," she continued pleasantly as the ranger faced him towards those doors. She even tapped a few fingers to his arm for good measure. "I'll be able to let you live if you just do as you're told and take down _all_ those wards. One," she stabbed him with a finger, "by one."

And then she was twisting quickly away. She took a deep breath as she came to stand opposite the ranger beside the doors. He was unslinging his bow and nocking an arrow to the string.

Edwin stilled himself from shaking with an effort. He glanced briefly toward the ranger and then her, and Evelyn summoned another sickeningly sweet grin for him. He flinched. And then he raised both his hands, and started chanting under his breath.

_Not _nearly_ frightening enough _…

The ranger didn't return her look. His eyes were fixed ahead on the doors. And Evelyn quickly had the ashwood staff in hand as well.

Edwin stopped chanting then, and his arms fell.

The doors swung open.

The wizard gave her one last glance, but her face was already hard and set. He stepped forward.

Four sets of eyes twisted instantly toward the bearded man as one – two men and two women gathered about a table in the center of a large forest of columns, all with curiously shaven heads rimmed with tattoes. One – the old man in red robes that she recognized from before – had his hand hovering over a table between them. On top of it, lay a trembling and tattered violet dress.

That older man rounded quickly on Edwin, face drawing back into hard edges. And the woman atop the table suddenly seemed to start breathing again.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded harshly. "I told you to see to the mercenaries."

But Edwin wasn't listening. Instead, he turned immediately toward the next door on his left, beginning to chant once more. Evelyn fixed instantly upon that panting form between them, hands clutching ashwood tight.

"You impertinent fool!" the old wizard was shouting. "What are you doing?"

The second door was open, and he was already beginning with the third. The other mage was suddenly snarling.

It was the last. The third door swung open just as a bolt of light went screaming across the room and into Edwin's chest. The bearded man hurtled up into the air and back. A steaming pile of robes tumbled quickly past back through between her and Kivan.

That old wizard was still seething, glaring after Edwin's writhing form. But it did not last long. An arrow bloomed in the chest of one of the women behind him.

The Red Wizard twisted instantly back around, baring his teeth angrily. And then his eyes went wide. That woman sucked in one sharp breath, staring down at the shaft poking out of her. She crumpled to the floor.

"INTRUDERS!"

Another arrow hissed through the air, but the three wizards were suddenly darting every which way, shouting and chanting all at once as they quickly made for the cover of the columns. Evelyn was on her feet in an instant and leaping forward. Two familiar voices filled the air.

Coran and Ajantis were charging in from one side, a bolt of light flashing out to take them as they made for the nearest wizard. The knight thrust his shield before him, staggering back against the blow, and the Elf answered it with an arrow. He twisted the other man away with him behind a stone pillar.

Magic was flying everywhere, lighting up the room. Marble exploded beside Evelyn's head, and she threw herself hastily aside. Dust burst down upon her, and she just caught sight of Coran tossing a knife behind the knight and his shield as more fire screamed toward them. They vanished from sight.

"CLOSE THE DOORS!"

Someone was shouting. Evelyn twisted back around just long enough to see Kivan dashing through the doors behind. They swung abruptly shut as he did so, though, and the Elf was knocked sideways off his feet. His bow slipped away across the marble.

"Here! Here!"

Coran was yelling out from across the room. She could hear him moving. But before she could think anything of it, lightning was bursting upon the stone beneath and howling along toward the ranger on the ground. Chunks of marble were flying everywhere, spraying the room about, and Kivan twisted hastily around. He was too slow, though, and Evelyn was lunging at him before he could move. She rolled, snatching the Elf along with her and out of the way.

Pulling herself up against the column, she twisted her eyes around long enough to see Coran and Ajantis still standing, ducking down beneath another column for cover. It exploded above them as she watched, however, and they were swallowed once more in a cloud of stone and dust.

Kivan thrust himself up beside her, bow back in hand and arrow nocked. He slipped around the column, firing off once … twice … and then he rounded back on her.

One of those wizards was still firing magic at them, another barreling down with light and fire against where Coran and Ajantis had been, the third sending acid flying blindly into the opposite side of the room. Kivan threw down his bow.

"What are you doing?" she cried at him over the shouting and explosions behind. The pillar beside them abruptly burst into pieces.

"They have wards protecting them," he grunted back, pulling free the blade at his side. "We took too long. Move!"

He was leaping up to his feet, and her alongside him, snatching free Fuller's dagger from her side. He darted away toward the next whole pillar over. Light came hurtling after him.

Evelyn was twisting about the column and around to face the man thrusting bolts of light after the ranger, dagger raised. The Elf disappeared behind another column and the mage rounded instantly on her as the blade flew free from her hand. He had already started chanting at her, not seeming to care about the steel suddenly hurtling toward his chest. His eyes went wide as it slipped easily into his arm, though, and he staggered back a step. She was whirling away before he could throw more light at her, marble bursting behind.

She caught sight of Coran and Ajantis again, as she threw herself down and back against stone. A ball of fire flew free from the old wizard facing them down, and the two leapt aside as it tore past. The wall behind exploded, the pillars about all cracking and tumbling down in jagged shards into the room. An instant later, the Elf came hurtling and howling through the air to one side, struck the ground hard, and tumbled past her into a corner, flames still licking at his shoulder. For a moment, he did not move.

_Where are they?!_ she was screaming soundlessly inside her head, clambering quickly back to her feet. One of the doors was still closed, but she had seen nothing of Khalid or Imoen or even Minsc.

One of the mages was still firing after where she was sure Kivan must have been, another – the second woman – closing on the far side of the room with fire in her hands. As she neared the closest pillar, though, something came whirling around from the other side. A scimitar swept down low across her legs, the other twisting back about to thrust up and down through her chest. The older wizard was suddenly throwing more fire, but Khalid had already vanished back behind stone once more.

Evelyn sucked in a hopeful breath, catching marble dust in her lungs instead as the column behind her abruptly burst into pieces. She threw herself down, twisted around, and came up instantly with the ashwood in hand. The mage was standing with a fistful of fire mere paces away.

For a moment, she froze. She could hear footsteps. And that hand drew back. Before it could snap toward her once more, however, Kivan had slipped in behind him, pulled free her dagger from his bleeding arm and shoved it around and up into his chest as a short blade stabbed in from the side. The light in his hands died instantly.

The mage hung there in the ranger's grasp for a moment, one arm hugging him tightly. Then the Elf let him go, and he collapsed down to the stone, eyes wide and gasping. Light burst against Kivan's back before he could even move.

The ranger tumbled over and through the air with a fierce cry, landing hard on his back on the floor. The old wizard was standing with hand raised just a few paces behind him. His eyes twisted up toward Evelyn's.

Someone was howling then, and the knight abruptly came charging into view from behind. As the Red Wizard whirled about to face him, the round shield abruptly left his hand, spinning wildly toward the mage. The old man forced it aside with a flash. And then with the next blast he sent Ajantis soaring back off his feet.

Evelyn was darting forward from one side, Khalid appearing and charging silently from the other. The wizard sent the half-Elf and her both sprawling before they could even reach him.

"Enough!" the man spat, looking sharply to either of them as he took a step back toward the center of the room, both arms raised and ready.

Evelyn pulled herself back up against a shattered column, scrabbling desperately against stone. She tried to ignore the sudden pain that seemed to drown every muscle in her body, only briefly making note that Kivan was still breathing, if not moving. Khalid was clawing his way back up across the room.

"Barbarians!" he continued snarling at them, twisting angrily this way and that. "You have made the greatest mistake here this day!" His eyes scoured the dead bodies of his companions quickly, suddenly blazing all the brighter. "Your deaths will be sweet indeed!"

A hand abruptly thrust high, and then sent another bolt of light hurtling into Khalid from behind. The half-Elven man twisted violently over and slid even further away against the marble. He did not move after that.

And then he turned back on her.

Another fistful of light lifted high in his hand for her. A rictus grin lit his face. She thrust a hand out for the staff still rolling slowly along a few feet away.

"Time to die."

Too late.

That hand abruptly stopped in midair as it snapped back down like the headsman's axe. The man staggered, grunting as light burst against his shoulder. He twisted around, and so did Evelyn. Both of their eyes went wide.

Imoen was standing in the doorway through which she and Kivan had come, the wood half-closed around Edwin's still form on the ground. She had a hand thrust forward, her eyes wide as well. The wizard suddenly cracked a smile.

"And just what was that supposed to do, girl?" he demanded of her, barking a laugh. Imoen was quickly pawing at her sleeve for a knife, but the wizard was quicker. In the next moment, the pink-haired woman was hurtling back through the doors and out of sight.

"Pathetic."

Before the Thayan could turn back toward Evelyn, however, both of those doors abruptly slammed back upon their hinges. A familiar giant was towering there in the doorway then, massive double-bladed sword in hand. His teeth were bared.

Minsc fixed instantly upon Dynaheir where she still lay untouched upon the table. His eyes went wide and his face slack in relief. The wizard himself actually seemed surprised for a moment … but he recovered swiftly enough. The Rashemi started forward toward the witch, unheeding. A blast of fire took him hard in the chest.

Minsc staggered back against the blow, almost dropping the sword in his hands. He didn't, though, and quickly rounded on the only Thayan left.

"The berserker," the old man was musing. "Curious."

He abruptly flung another fistful of light at the Rashemi. Minsc stumbled back a few more steps, and then came roaring at the wizard.

The breath caught in Evelyn's throat as she watched, waiting for the steel to slip in and carve flesh. Minsc swung right for the mage's head, shouting wildly. But the man suddenly slid easily to one side. The blade screamed through the air, nearly taking the giant warrior off balance with the force of it. The wizard blasted him again from behind. The larger man stumbled away.

Minsc was coming instantly back around, roaring as he swung for the Thayan once more. The old man managed to slip past that blade again and again, even as the Rashemi continued slicing mightily away. They formed a little circle in the center of the room, dancing about – the one quick and agile, the other thundering about and bellowing like a raging beast. Light and fire and acid ate steadily away at the giant man's armor.

Evelyn was already struggling to pull herself up. It was easy enough to see that Minsc would not last long. The seething anger that threatened to burst all the veins on his tattooed head seemed to be the only thing keeping him on his feet. She threw herself over toward her staff.

Eventually Minsc fell, flesh scorched and bleeding in far more places than just one, down to his knees. Ragged breaths racked his broad chest, the massive blade clattering down to the marble as his hands drooped. The wizard stood above him, his lips twisting upwards into a grin.

"I had always wished to see just how formidable your kind could be this close," the old man was saying. Minsc was snarling up at him, looking as if he would just swallow the man whole.

Evelyn had the ashwood in one hand, Kara-Turian blade in the other. She threw herself up to her feet.

"I am sorry to be so disappointed …"

The Red Wizard raised a hand, fire dancing around his fingertips. He pushed it forward right to the Rashemi's tattooed forehead.

"MINSC!"

Evelyn screamed, and abruptly came up short as fire flashed bright. Her eyes went wide.

But it was the wizard who stumbled.

The old man looked confused for a moment. But it quickly turned to anger. He twisted back around, eyes flashing vengefully toward the table behind. Dynaheir was lying there still, face smoothed and drenched in sweat while one arm stretched out toward the other, filling with more fire. After another moment, though, it died, and her fingers crumpled.

"_Fool_ witch!" the Thayan spat, and then took a step toward her, hands still raised. A roar suddenly erupted behind him.

Before the man could even twist back around, Minsc was surging up from the ground, throwing himself at the other. Steel swept up, came around and crashed through crimson robes. Both pieces of the Thayan hurtled angrily apart.

And Minsc fell back down to his knees.

He wasn't down for long, though, and was quickly stumbling over toward Dynaheir atop the table. He all but collapsed down upon her then, as he tried to drag her off of it.

Evelyn, for her part, let herself stay down, crumpling slowly to the floor. The ashwood staff and the Kara-Turian blade clattered down with her. She held herself upright with both hands.

She took a deep breath.

And then she climbed back up.


	62. Chapter 6 Hope's Companion

_**Hope's Companion**_

Evelyn stumbled in through the front door of the Elfsong Tavern, forcing a deep breath as she glanced quickly around. It looked little different than how she had left it, if just a little bit cleaner. But it had not been burned to the ground this time at least, as she had almost half expected it to be. She could be thankful for that much.

Before she could take another halting step, though, the Elf was chiming in at her side.

"I think that will be far enough for now, sweetling," Coran grunted, and then gestured with his head toward the corner of the room near the door. "That table over there."

Between the two of them, she and Ajantis maneuvered the Elf toward the empty table tucked into the corner. The knight pulled out a chair with his free hand and they lowered the man down to sit.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked the Elf, eying his charred and torn leathers dubiously once more for good measure. The man took firm hold of the table and the chair beneath him, however, and bobbed his head irritably.

"Fine. Fine. I've suffered far worse in your company."

She didn't doubt that. But she frowned all the same, and turned toward the knight at the Elf's side.

"Watch him."

Ajantis nodded simply, looking of far better spirits despite the numerous burns and blasts he had received as well. His shield and his armor had seemed to soften those blows somewhat. She spared them only another moment before turning back toward the others.

Kivan was just making his way through the door, hauling nearly all of Khalid's deadweight along at his side. The half-Elven man could barely keep his head up. He had been the worst among them by far, but had still managed to survive. She had no doubt that that would have surprised the dead Thayan wizard as well. That blast should have killed him, she was sure.

She caught the ranger's eyes briefly, and gestured for him to join Coran and Ajantis over at the table. He started away with the other man and Minsc ducked inside after him.

Dynaheir hung limply in the giant Rashemi's arms, looking no better than she had when they had finally taken her off that table. She was still drenched in sweat, though some of it had managed to dry. Evelyn hadn't bothered to ask just what the Thayans might have done to her, or even dared to think about it. Minsc, for that matter, hardly seemed to either anymore. The worried lines etched into his face did not daunt the relieved grin he wore now that she was safe and her captors were dead.

Most of them anyways.

As the large man passed, Dynaheir reached out a hand and weakly touched Evelyn's arm. She mouthed something that the raven-haired woman could hardly have heard, but she didn't need to. If the meaning had not been clear enough, then Minsc's hand clapping down on her shoulder in the next instant certainly made it so. The last one inside was Imoen.

The pink-haired woman stopped when she saw Evelyn waiting. For a moment, she didn't say anything. And by the time she did open her mouth, her best friend had beat her to it.

"Stay here," Evelyn told the other woman, nodding toward the others at the table, "and keep an eye on them. I'll go find Jaheira."

Imoen swallowed what she was going to say, and bobbed her head instead. "Okay, Eve."

And then Evelyn was striding away quickly into the common room.

It didn't take her long to find that small room in the opposite corner of the inn. There were few enough people scattered about to get in her way. The common room even seemed to be mostly getting back into order, with far more patrons being served at their tables. When she pulled back that curtain, though, Jaheira and Xan were gone.

Worry stole over her for a moment, just a moment. Then she noticed people moving up and down the stairs to one side. There were no Flaming Fist roaming about or anyone keeping people restricted to the downstairs now, it seemed. She didn't hesitate long before slipping upstairs as well.

She went to Jaheira's old room first. She knocked on the door quickly before opening it. When she pushed inside, the half-Elven woman was standing beside the bed, stuffing belongings into her pack. She paused only briefly to glance up at Evelyn as she entered. And then she continued.

"Dynaheir?" the older woman asked simply, not looking up. Evelyn nodded her head.

"She's safe."

"The others?"

Again, she nodded.

"They'll be alright."

"Good then."

The druid finished quickly with both her pack and her husband's, and then shouldered both before starting towards the door.

"I suggest you gather your things," she was saying as she neared. "We will not be staying in this place a moment longer than necessary. And I care not how much that man might protest. I will not wait another day, let alone two, before seeing just what Commander Scar has to say about all of this."

She edged in past Evelyn, stepping out into the hallway.

"I think it is long past time we dealt with Gorion's murderers and the Iron Throne."

As the older woman started moving away toward the stairs leading down, however, Evelyn finally spoke.

"They're not here."

"What?"

Jaheira twisted impatiently back around. Evelyn met her gaze easily, her voice even.

"They're not here," she repeated. "They left. They went to Candlekeep."

"Candlekeep?" the other woman frowned, and took a step back towards her. "Who?" But realization dawned on her all too quickly with another hasty step. "How do you know this?"

But Evelyn didn't answer. She just held the other's gaze for several long, wordless moments. Eventually, Jaheira bobbed her head slowly, glancing away.

"The Dwarf?"

"Dead."

The older woman looked back to her sharply, but she kept her face smooth. The other studied her for a moment.

"Evelyn …"

"Where is Xan?" she interrupted her quickly. After another moment, Jaheira just sighed.

"He left as soon as he was well enough to walk," the druid told her, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "I do not know where he is now."

Evelyn only nodded to herself. Before the other could continue with her thoughts once more, however, she had already opened her mouth again.

"Khalid is hurt," she said. "And so are some of the others. They'll need you."

Jaheira blinked at that, but gave Evelyn a hard look. Without another word, she was striding away toward the stairs and down, leaving the other alone. Evelyn waited until she had gone. And then she turned back.

She searched the other rooms quickly, glancing in each and making her way steadily along down the hall. She hardly had any idea just which Xan had taken, but it was worth a try at least. Unfortunately, though, she found nothing of the Elf … just scattered rubble and debris and empty beds.

The inn's staff was still scurrying about, assessing damages and finishing cleaning what could be cleaned. There was charred wood everywhere along the walls that she could see, great pockets of it where the Thayans must have wreaked their havoc. One door she didn't even have to open. She just moved up alongside a large, crumbling hole in the wall and could see plainly enough that no one was inside. If she hadn't known already that the Elf had survived the attack, she might even have been worried.

But she didn't find him. All of the others' rooms were empty. Eventually, she just gave up, and paused there in the middle of the hall. He was gone. She sighed at that. But there was nothing more to do. It was for the best, anyways.

Instead, she started away toward her own room. What had _been_ her old room. She had left Coran's gift in there when she had gone – the only thing. Given just what had happened the night before, she doubted that Imoen had had a chance to find it.

She tried to turn the latch, but it was broken. The door just creaked slowly inward at her touch. And she just pushed it impatiently in all the way.

As she stepped inside, however, she abruptly came up short.

Her eyes went wide for a moment. But it was not for that gaping hole that had obliterated almost an entire side of the room. Or the broken and charred pieces of wood scattered haplessly everywhere about. The whole place looked as if it had just exploded outward, and she realized then just where that massive hole that she had seen from outside had actually come from. It wasn't _that _she stared at then, though.

A familiar form was standing there, before the hole, teetering on the edge and gazing silently out and down to what must have been the streets of Baldur's Gate below. She could just faintly hear the hum of the market wafting up into the room through that hole.

That was the only sound she heard for a moment. The Elf didn't turn toward her. He just kept staring out and down. He hadn't even moved when she opened the door. She could have almost thought him a ghost.

But he tensed at the sound of her voice next.

"Xan."

The man suddenly seemed to come back to life then, his chest and back moving as breath returned to him. He did not turn, however. And he was silent for a few moments more before he finally spoke.

"I waited, Evelyn."

She shook her head slowly. He didn't say anything else, though, for a moment. She waited. Eventually, he just turned around.

"Are you alright?" she asked quickly, ignoring the look in his eyes as he caught sight of her. He had almost seemed that much more surprised, and something else, but it hardened for a moment as he swallowed and nodded his head.

"No. But I will live."

He almost barked a laugh, but it died too quickly to seem like much more than a grunt. She frowned at that. But he seemed as if he could stand at least, and there was just the trace of half-healed burns along the sides of his handsome face. He looked a good deal better than the last time she had seen him.

He just stared at her for a few moments. Finally, she looked away.

Her eyes found the chest where she had left Coran's gold quickly enough, though she had half expected to find it blasted to bits much like everything else in the room, including most of what had been her bed. The lid had burst in, however, and she could just see the sack inside through the cracked wood. She started towards it.

The Elf said nothing as she passed on her way to the far side of the room. But she could feel his eyes on her the whole way. When she had the heavy sack tucked safely back into her own pack and was moving again toward the door, though, he stopped her with a hand.

He stepped in close. And she let him. His hands drifted up to cup both sides of her face, and he just stared at her for another moment, searching her eyes with his own. After a moment, he dipped in close, brushing his lips against hers. But she turned slightly. He missed.

She had squeezed her eyes shut, but she opened them again as he withdrew enough to look her in the eye. She looked back, safe behind her walls. He almost smiled at her.

"Would it be so terrible?" he started to ask, but stopped, his face tensing. He drew in a sharp breath, glancing quickly away before he could continue. "Even for just this short while." He fixed back on her. "I have been asking myself that same question."

She just pressed her eyes closed once more, forcing those blows against her back and away. She could almost have heard stone start to crack. But then it was gone.

"Yes," she breathed. And she was looking up at him once more.

He just grimaced.

"You are wiser than I."

And sighed.

"You are wiser than I, I think."

He moved just a little bit farther away.

"So be it," he said slowly then, and seemed to slump a little where he stood. He shook his head, looking away. But Evelyn snatched him up quickly in her arms, hugging him.

"I'm sorry, Xan." For that, and so much more. "I'm sorry …"

Her voice was barely more than a pained whisper, and he started to shake. But then he was steady again.

"You have a power you do not even realize, Evelyn," he started to say softly. "It is otherworldly and it takes hold of me with hands I cannot even see."

He flinched, and shook his head once more. He started to slip his own arms around her, but stopped. He muttered something in Elvish to himself. And then he stiffened.

He eased her back and took hold of her face once more, brushing his lips quickly to the top of her head instead. "I will try to keep out of its reach," he whispered to her. "It will be difficult … But I will try."

Then he let her go.

"What will you do, Xan?" she asked softly, stepping away. The other only stared at her.

"I still have my duty, Evelyn."

She nodded back slowly.

"Did you find what you were looking for last night?" he asked. But she just shook her head.

"Did you?"

He almost barked another laugh, his lips twitching briefly instead.

"I found it some time ago."

She frowned at that, but ignored it. It had been sarcastic; she somehow doubted that five wizards bearing down on him had been just what he needed. She hefted her heavy pack atop her shoulders instead.

"Do you still want to help me?"

That Elf actually did manage a smile then. But it was hollow, she could see. He glanced up at her.

"I have not finished yet, have I?"

She sighed. And she took a step towards him, taking his hand in both of hers.

"I'm glad that you're still alive, Xan."

He stared down at that hand. There was no smile on his lips this time. But she only waited a moment longer before letting him go. And then she was turning about and heading back through the door.

A few moments later, she could hear the Elf following after.

* * *

"Faaather."

The man winced, and forced his eyes shut. Without turning, he growled over his shoulder, "Not now."

He looked back up at them, but that voice was chiding sweetly from behind once more.

"I just want to talk, Father. I've grown bored."

And he did turn around then. He stabbed a finger right at the girl, his jaw clenching tight. For a moment, he couldn't form words his face was so red. But he shook it off quickly, and twisted away.

"You," he swallowed hard, "you were saying?"

Jaheira looked at the man, Scar's lieutenant, and then glanced quickly away toward the fair-haired young woman standing across the room with a long blade dangling easily from her fingers. She pursed her lips.

"Commander Scar," she started anew, but that girl was suddenly interrupting once again.

"Oh, what's the matter, Father?" she pouted at him. "Are you afraid I'll embarrass you in front of your new lady-friends? Or just the men under your command?"

"Shar …" he warned.

"When is the great _hero_ of Fort Flame going to man up and step in," she waved that blade deftly through the air, "so I can knock him back down."

And the man finally snapped.

"That's it, Shar," he was whirling back around toward her. "Home! _Now_!"

"Come make me!"

"Fergus! Herren!"

Two more Flaming Fist officers were suddenly snapping back to life and starting forward, cornering that young woman who had been dancing around, blade in hand, in a corner when Jaheira and Evelyn had first come in. It was late in the afternoon, and few enough men were there in the Flaming Fist compound besides, but Eve still thought it strange. The lieutenant commander they had recognized easily enough, though he had been speaking crossly with those other men. The girl he had seemingly been trying to pay no notice.

For a moment, that young woman looked as if she might use the blade in her hand to keep those two at bay. But, at length, she dropped it, and took to scowling as they hauled her up by both arms. The way her eyes lit up, though, Evelyn could only imagine just what she might have tried to do had she not given herself up instead. Scar's lieutenant seemed not to think so much of it.

"You will have to excuse my daughter," he was saying as he eyed the girl being herded past and back toward the compound's front doors. "She is just like her mother." His eyes flashed. "A whore."

A fist struck him so hard and so fast right in the face that he didn't even make a sound as he tumbled over to the ground. It took the two other Flaming Fist a good couple seconds before they could bring the fair-haired girl back under control, and no few obscenities had burst free from her throat by then. The lieutenant commander climbed quickly back up to his feet.

"And doesn't know her place!"

He nursed his broken nose for a moment, dabbing at the blood, before raising his hand as if he would strike the girl. He seemed to realize Evelyn and Jaheira still standing there, though, and abruptly let it drop.

"Get her out of here. I told you to keep her out!"

"Commander Scar," the druid snapped at him, and the man rounded quickly back upon her. He bobbed his head after a moment, scowling.

"Yes. Of course. He said something about you, I remember. Follow me." He turned smartly on his heel and began to lead them away.

Evelyn frowned briefly after that woman they had led out. But she didn't have long to wonder about it. The man brought them quickly to a stairwell in one corner of that large room and started up without another word. Jaheira only spared her a glance before following swiftly after.

After Evelyn had returned to the others, the older woman had been quick to snatch her up and haul her along to meet with Scar and tell him all that they now knew. She had seen to Khalid and Dynaheir and even Coran, briefly, but she had little time to do more than to agree that they needed rest, for now. They found another inn just a short distance from the Elfsong, and Evelyn had been more than happy to offer up some of her gold to pay for their stay. Jaheira had been all too anxious to speak with the commander and finally be done with that mess. And after all that had happened in that city, Evelyn could hardly disagree with her.

As they reached the top of the stairs, their guide suddenly came to a halt. He clasped his hands behind his back.

"Commander Scar."

The bearded man rounded instantly upon the other, eyebrow arched. "Lieutenant Commander Dosan," he acknowledged. "I thought I told you–"

"Aye, sir," the lieutenant commander responded quickly, though. "But you also said to alert you as soon as any of those women returned."

Scar looked past him to the two coming up behind then, and, after a moment, nodded his head. "Very well, Lieutenant." He glanced back briefly toward the seated man he had been speaking to as they entered before returning to the other. That one seemed to chuckle a little under his breath at the way the commander referred to his adjutant as merely 'lieutenant'.

"Dismissed."

The lieutenant commander bowed his head in turn and moved quickly about and around the two women down the stairs to the floor below. And then they were alone with those two men almost as quickly as they had come.

"Back so soon," Scar grunted simply at them, not seeming to care to waste any time waiting for them to speak up. Or maybe he was just used to always being the first to open his mouth. "How did matters fare?"

Evelyn glanced toward that other man, dark-haired and dark-eyed and sitting at a desk. She could see Jaheira doing the same beside her, pursing her lips. But the commander only eased himself leisurely down atop the desk, folding his arms expectantly across his chest.

"You already know about the Dopplegangers," the druid eventually answered him. Scar leaned back, snatching a mug up off the table and tipping it back. He shook his head as he put it back down.

"We are still sorting out that mess," he told her. "Too much hard evidence destroyed in the fires I'm afraid. Thankfully, Aldeth Sashenstar seemed to have plenty of his own scattered about the inside of the Merchants' Consortium. Nothing to connect it to the Iron Throne, though. I meant with the sewers." He gestured dismissively with a hand.

Jaheira gave her a sidelong look. Evelyn could feel it even as she kept her eyes firmly on the man ahead. The darker one had leaned forward, listening. Her face was smooth.

"One of ours was killed," the raven-haired woman said simply. The commander gave her a sympathetic look.

"I am sorry to hear that."

Even so, he just sat there, and waited for her to continue. Eventually, though, he had to wave a hand for her to do so. The druid was arching an eyebrow at them both.

"What else?"

Jaheira didn't answer. Scar glanced from one to the other, however, as if she would. But Evelyn just raised her chin.

"What else would you like to know?"

If she dared to look at the woman beside her, she was sure she would have been smiling – at least to herself. Evelyn had told her everything about the night before on the way there, and the druid had been quick to give her a warning. There was little chance that the commander had not known of that secret entrance all along.

For the moment, though, nothing showed upon that bearded man's face. He let out a slow breath, fixing her more firmly.

"You meant to take revenge, or blood price, or some other rot on the Throne, did you not?" he asked, looking from one to the other. "If you indeed lost a man, then I can only _assume_ that you at least made it far enough inside to tussle with their hirelings." He raised a knowing brow toward them. "I wonder if Rieltar, Thaldorn, and Brunos are all still alive and well …"

"They weren't there," Eve said slowly. The other only narrowed his eyes doubtfully at her.

"Weren't … there?" he mused almost suspiciously, and Evelyn frowned at him. "Well … then where might they be?"

"Why does it matter?" she demanded hastily. Jaheira had a hand on her arm before she could say anything else, though, and was giving her a pointed look.

"It matters," the commander continued briskly, "because you left your enemy alive. You lost a man … so they have drawn blood and," he waggled a finger, "unless I miss my guess, which I do not often, you have drawn some of theirs as well, no doubt. If I were you," he lowered his voice, "I would worry at that state of affairs."

Jaheira was looking at him sharply. She spared a quick glance for the dark man sitting in his fine dark coat at the desk too. She narrowed her eyes right back at them both.

"Why does it concern you so?" Jaheira demanded. "We have done as you asked. And you held up your side of the bargain. Why worry over our failure?"

"It was _you_ who came back to see _me_, half-Elf. Do not cast accusations at my feet. I told you these men were as much a threat to me as they seemed to be to you."

"A threat?" Evelyn scowled him.

"You would have had us be your assassins," Jaheira added at her side. "Tell me, what would you have done had we been caught?"

"You accepted those risks," Scar replied simply. "You knew full well. I could see that clearly enough."

They remained there, in silence, for a few long moments then, the two women glaring icily at the bearded commander of the Flaming Fist. Eventually, though, he took a deep breath, and stood up from the desk. He pursed his lips briefly before opening his mouth once more.

"Let me introduce you to someone," he told them, moving around the desk to the side. That man, who had been sitting there in curious silence until just that moment, stood up as well, straightening his fine dark coat.

"This is Grand Duke Eltan," Scar gestured with a hand toward that other man, "one of the lords of the city, commander of the Flaming Fist, and member of the Lord's Alliance."

The duke did not greet them. He barely more than acknowledged them with a slight tip of his head. Almost as one, both of the two women's glares shifted to him. He cleared his throat.

"I regret that my trusted friend here has not been completely open with the lot of you," he began. "Understandable, given the circumstances, of course. He has been under my direct orders.

"But I am glad to see that you have come," he continued. "I know that such a meeting might seem unusual, but in these circumstances it is absolutely necessary." He stiffened, raising his chin with a breath. "Scar has been telling me something of you. I understand you have proven quite the able-bodied group of mercenaries."

"We are not mercenaries," Jaheira interrupted him, narrowing her eyes. "And we are not assassins."

"Yet you play the role in this instance," Eltan brushed her words aside with a hand. "And I think you play it gladly despite the pretense."

Jaheira cracked her jaw, but Evelyn only frowned at him.

"What do you want?"

She had read about Baldur's Gate and the Council of Four. Duke Eltan was just one among them, but still very powerful, she knew, and a ruler of the city besides. The commander of the guard might have cared to get his hands dirty enough to speak with them about handling common criminals, but a Grand Duke should not have. It was starting to explain their reluctance and secrecy at least.

"I would first ask," the duke fixed them anew after another moment, "just what involvement you have had with the merchant society known as the Iron Throne?"

"You know that as well as we do," Jaheira spoke up impatiently. "They are threatening the stability of your city and we have agreed to help take care of them for you."

"But your personal reasons are still unknown to us," Scar chimed in from one side. Jaheira smiled sweetly at him, but it was Eltan who spoke.

"From what I have been told," he continued on swiftly, giving the commander a pointed look before turning back toward them, "you have been quite a thorn in the side of the Iron Throne. I am interested in you," he bobbed his head slightly, "because of the obvious hatred that they hold for you. Their recent activities have been brought to my attention, and I am very dubious about their intentions. I think it is far too _easy_ to blame the recent caravan raids and iron shortage on the Zhentarim. Though the evidence does point to them, they do not have much to profit, while the Iron Throne has everything to gain."

He made a clicking sound in his throat, raising his chin.

"I have much to concern me right now," he told them, "especially with tensions rising between our city and the nation of Amn. Unfortunately my hands are tied; I cannot act against the Iron Throne until I have hard evidence of their wrongdoing. That is of course," he bowed his head, "where you came in. I needed a small group of spies to break into the Iron Throne operations here in the city, and see if they could find any proof of the Throne's involvement with the events of late. Failing that," he grunted, "the death of their leaders by the hands of persons wholly unknown or connected with us would have served just as well, given that our suspicions were true – and I am most certainly sure that they are.

"So tell me," he extended a hand. "You have not slain their leaders. Have you any hard proof instead?"

Evelyn blinked. And then she looked to Jaheira. The other woman was arching an eyebrow back at her, though. She returned to the Grand Duke quickly.

"No."

The duke and Scar both stared at her and Jaheira for a moment. And then Eltan sighed loudly. He cast the commander a look.

"That is most … disappointing."

The duke opened his mouth to say something more to the other man, but Evelyn proved swifter.

"They went to Candlekeep."

Both men turned back slowly toward her. They stared for another moment, and Evelyn looked to each in turn.

"Who?" Scar prompted after a few more moments of quiet.

"The leaders of the Iron Throne," she told them simply, "Rieltar and Brunos."

"How do you know that?"

"Thaldorn told us." She gave the duke another hard eye. "Their supposed to be meeting someone there."

Eltan studied her for a few seconds longer. And then he glanced toward Scar. They said nothing just then, but she could see the unspoken words passing between them. Before she knew it, the duke was rounding slowly back on Jaheira and her.

"Do you intend to follow them?"

Scar was the one who spoke, and both women's eyes flashed toward him. Evelyn opened her mouth, but it was Jaheira's voice that answered.

"Yes. We do."

The raven-haired woman twisted around toward the other quickly, but the druid only gave her a sidelong look out of the corner of her eye. The duke was speaking again.

"Then there is only one thing to do," he remarked simply. And then he moved forward back to his desk. "Travel to Candlekeep and learn what they are doing there. Whatever it is, it cannot bode well for the fortunes of this city. Take this book."

He opened a drawer and lifted a heavy tome out, extending it across the desk toward them. Evelyn only hesitated for a moment, frowning, before stepping up to take it.

"Without it," the duke continued, "the Keeper of the Portal will not allow you entrance into the library."

He looked to them each in turn. Then he canted his head.

"It is late in the day already. Rest for now, and return to me on the morrow. I will see you swiftly to the library fortress then."

He gestured with a hand, and Scar was moving forward. The commander stepped up behind them and herded both women quickly back toward the stairs as the Grand Duke sat back down. He went to work on some papers there swiftly.

He hardly even noticed when they had gone.


	63. Chapter 6 Sea of Swords

_**Sea of Swords**_

It was a big, wooden … _thing_.

Evelyn had seen them before – boats. But standing there on the wharves of southern Baldur's Gate, staring down and ahead to the pier and up … she had never been so close to a real one. The only ships she had ever laid eyes on had been those in tomes with enough thought to include wooden prints for their scholarly ramblings, or far, far in the distance from atop the walls of Candlekeep. The cliffs around the library could be more than just dangerous.

It was a merchant's boat. Or, at least, that was what it certainly looked like. The men down on the pier, bare-chested and bare-backed in the early morning heat, were hauling large crates and barrels up into the ship, sliding them onto the deck and through portholes in the side with thick cables and ropes. Eltan had said it was a shipment meant to go south to Athkatla in Amn. Fortunately, for them, it would be making a little detour.

They had returned to the Grand Duke early that morning – Jaheira, Khalid, and her. The half-Elven man had been well enough to walk at least, after some rest and further tending from his wife. But the duke had barely had time enough to see to them before hastening them off with Scar toward the Docks. And even the commander had been too busy to see them there.

Jaheira was certain that by dealing with the leaders of the Iron Throne, they meant assassination. Given the circumstances, the druid and her husband were far from averse to oblige them, though. Evelyn wasn't so sure she disagreed, but as she stared up at that ship … she began to feel a pit forming deep in her stomach.

_Candlekeep_ …

She thought that Eltan and Scar might have cared just a little more considering what they seemed to want them to do – and how much they wanted them to do it. But Jaheira was right. They could not be known to have anything to do with such a thing. It was politics, so she said. Evelyn only sighed.

Gorion's murderers would be there. Sarevok Anchev would be there … she knew that he would. And she would kill father and son both. Yeslick deserved that much at least.

That boat was meant for them. Or, at least, it was meant to take them to Candlekeep. Eltan had made arrangements for their passage late last night with the captain – a personal friend of the duke and the harbormaster of Baldur's Gate both. Overland travel would have taken them days more at a hard march, and the Grand Duke and commander both had seemed to think it best to be there as swiftly as possible to meet Rieltar and the others – whatever they might be planning. By sea, though … they could be there by tomorrow. She wasn't so sure just how she felt about that.

There was nothing to do for it, though. Jaheira meant to go there. _She_ meant to go there. And marching south was simply out of the question. Dynaheir had recovered, but was barely well enough to walk. She would not have seen Minsc carrying the woman for days on end to see them all there. And Khalid was little better. The two Rashemi had stayed with them at least.

She looked around briefly, Kivan and Xan standing separately close by as well. She was a little hopeful at that, though she could have expected far less. Both had tried already to leave. And, as much as it surprised her, they were not the ones to finally do so.

"_What …? Why?"_

She had stood staring incredulously there just outside the inn, sunrise still minutes away. The Elf had only shaken his head, trying to smile back at her. She had known she had no real good reason to ask, or to even wonder … but, still. She had thought her concern _more_ than warranted.

Coran had only taken her hand in his, however, grinning crookedly. His apology had been insincere, though – she could see it in his misty blue eyes. Whatever he had meant by staying behind, he had said that it was important, and that it could not wait. He had promised, though … he had promised to find them as soon as he was finished – he would run all the way to Candlekeep from Baldur's Gate if he had to.

She wasn't so sure she believed him. But the kiss he had tried to give her before parting had not been what she had expected. It had been the same he had given her that night after escaping the Merchant's League. It had been the same he had given her that night Yeslick had died. She hadn't believed him then either.

But there was nothing for it now. The Elf was gone, and she could hardly have known if she would see him again or not. She almost liked to think that she would, but it was probably better for him if she didn't. He would be safer at least. She could hope.

Scar's lieutenant had finally finished speaking with the captain of the ship, and Evelyn glanced back to see both men climbing up the pier back toward the street where the lieutenant commander had left them all waiting. As they approached, the taller man sketched a bow.

"I'll be your captain for this fine and lovely, voyage, if it pleases you, good lords and ladies," he quickly flourished the bow with a twist of his light cloak. "Our mutual friend has already paid well in advance for your safe passage and uneventful journey south. So I will welcome you aboard me ship," he swept an arm back wide toward the pier, "the Widower, at your earliest convenience. We're soon to be underway."

The lieutenant commander opened his mouth to speak, casting the other an irritable look, but Jaheira was swifter.

"The … Widower?"

She arched an eyebrow at the man. And he just grinned broadly right back.

"I thought it properly dashing," he flourished another bow. "I'm happy to see that you approve, good lady."

Jaheira turned that eye then on Khalid.

"_This_ is," the lieutenant commander began, clearing his throat loudly. The other man continued on deftly into the brief pause, however, bobbing his head.

"Havarian," he offered quickly, "Captain Havarian, if you please. But you may call me Saemon." He snatched the half-Elven woman's hand deftly from her side, and pressed his lips down over it. Her smile, for the moment at least, seemed amused.

The lieutenant commander was clearing his throat once more.

"_If_," he gave the captain a hard eye, "that will be all Captain …"

The man gestured dismissively with a hand, and the lieutenant commander spared the others a brief glance before canting his head and rounding quickly on his heel. He started away back into the streets.

"Very well, then," Captain Havarian was extending a hand toward them. "If you all will please follow me …" He began climbing back down toward the docks.

Jaheira and Khalid were first, Minsc helping Dynaheir along swiftly on their heels. Ajantis broke his frown to give her a small smile as he passed; Xan only paused for a moment before continuing on. Kivan's look was unreadable.

She tried to tell herself that it didn't make a difference – that she wasn't waiting to be the last because it would somehow keep her from having to return home that much sooner. She tried to tell herself that … and failed. She wasn't sure what to think of it. She really wasn't. But she knew … that at least a part of it … would not be good. What she would bring back into her home was something far worse than she could have borne. She should never have left.

Imoen was at her side then. She stopped and just gazed silently for a moment beside her best friend. And then she shook her head.

"It'll be weird, huh?" she asked quietly. "Going home?"

Evelyn didn't answer her, though. She didn't have to.

But there _was _something she had been meaning to say to her best friend. She opened her mouth to do just that. The other beat her to it.

"I've never been on a ship before. Have you?"

Evelyn shook her head.

The other woman clapped an arm around her quickly, and started pulling her along down toward the wharves.

"Just think, Eve … it'll be fun!"

Evelyn just sighed. Maybe they would crash up on some rocks.

She could hope.

* * *

Imoen bent double, snatched the small barrel up from under the bunk …and exploded.

It was a long time before her best friend lifted her head again, groaning and swaying as she did. And then her lips suddenly slammed outward, those green eyes flashing wide. In another moment, the other was buried deep in that reeking barrel once more. Evelyn just tried not to wince too hard at the sounds.

She frowned as she watched, face twisting in pity. She couldn't help it. But then she suddenly had fingers pressed hard to her own mouth, stomach heaving as the wooden walls around abruptly dipped. After a few blind moments of panic, though, she managed to swallow it back down.

It was hardly the first time that day.

"You should go up on deck …"

The pink-haired woman looked sharply up at her, horrified. That barrel was tucked tightly against her chest.

"I don't wanna _see_ it!"

Evelyn just shrugged back at her, feeling a bit steadier for the moment at least. It was that cramped cabin, she was sure. Somehow … it made that _feeling_ all the worse.

"Well I'm going up on deck."

The other woman had to run out of barrel sometime, and Evelyn didn't think she was about to try her luck and share. The open sea was a much better place to empty her stomach – it was its fault anyways. If it just didn't twist, and turn … and heave … and roll so much …

She clutched a hand to her stomach and her mouth both, barely noticing as Imoen bobbed her head miserably from atop the bunk. Evelyn tensed there for a few seconds, willing her throat to close tight. The instant it let up she was twisting quickly around and hurrying out. It did not last long, however.

She caught herself again on the rail up to the deck, but she hardly had time to leap aside before a few shirtless sailors were barking at her to move and hauling a large crate along down below. That hot, salty breeze struck her hard once more.

"And just where would you be going there, little miss?"

Evelyn twisted back about in surprise at the sound of that voice, barely having taken more than a step out onto the Widower's main deck. It was the captain standing above the helm behind and up. He had not been speaking to her, though.

A dusky-skinned woman sauntered her way into view past another railing in front of the helm, dark auburn hair fluttering loosely behind. She sashayed swiftly up to a grinning Havarian and wrapped both arms around the back of his neck, swallowing him in a deep kiss.

Evelyn had to swallow hard herself once more, cheeks flushing as she turned right back around. Some of it, at least, was for the rolling wood underneath. After another moment, she was quickly pushing on.

She started to pick her way amongst the masts, thick coils of rope, and more bare-chested, wind-blasted, and sweating sailors, trying her best not to let the sway beneath her feet unsettle her balance, if not her stomach. The slick wood of the deck didn't help much, and she was quickly beginning to realize just why she was the only one in sight wearing boots. But eventually she made her way across to the side of the boat, steadying herself there against the rail. The Sea of Swords churned beyond.

For a moment, she just watched those swelling tides as they rose almost lazily everywhere about. The wood of the ship's hull far below cut easily through them. And if she looked back over her shoulder toward the other side and east … she could almost just make out land. It had been several hours since they had set sail, though, and she doubted that she would somehow see a familiar fortress looming in the distance anytime soon. She could hope.

But she wouldn't. Look back over her shoulder, that was. Instead she hunkered down just a little bit more over the rail, staring into the waters below. That was her own open barrel right there. The whole big ocean.

For a moment then, it felt like she might need _all_ of it.

Slowly, again though … it passed.

The noonday sun was beating down hard at her back, but she kept her cloak and coat anyways. She had felt at least a few sets of eyes on her ever since she came on deck, and she remembered where she had felt looks like those before – the Red Sheaf Inn back in Beregost. She briefly wondered what might have happened had any of them known of the small fortune she had stowed away in her cabin below with Imoen. It would have made up for that bounty any day, and more, she was sure.

Everyone seemed to avoid her, though – and the rest of them, of course. She had a sneaking suspicion that it was only because that merchant captain had ordered them to. Or Duke Eltan. She supposed she couldn't really argue with it either way. It was a relief, at least, to be sure. Right then she had _enough_ problems to worry about with just her poor stomach alone.

But at least she wasn't prancing around flaunting herself. She cast a sidelong look back over her shoulder toward Havarian and what she thought must have been his mistress. She was the only other woman onboard aside from their passengers to Candlekeep. And she was still hanging all over that man, the helm completely ignored. Evelyn was beginning to wonder if she should be getting just a little worried over that when someone abruptly spoke up at her side.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She snapped back around instantly, cheeks burning a bright crimson at being caught staring. When she saw it was the knight standing there, though, and looking out across the sea besides, she quickly recomposed herself, frowning instead. She hadn't even heard him come up alongside her.

For a moment, she blinked, not sure that it was even him. Unlike her, he hadn't scoffed at removing just about everything short of a flimsy tunic and trousers, barefooted and with unbuttoned shirtsleeves catching in the sea wind so that she could see the white flesh of his muscles underneath.

He leaned forward into his arms folded across the rails, gazing leisurely about.

"It reminds me of the sea outside Waterdeep."

Evelyn turned back out toward that sight, joining him for a moment.

"I suppose so …"

It was … in its own way. A rather stomach-churning, nauseating sort of way. But she didn't dare tell him that, of course. From what she could remember, he liked gently rippling breezes over seas outside Waterdeep or … or something like that.

"But not nearly as beautiful as you, my Lady."

She glanced back over at him, and he looked hurriedly away. After another moment, he cleared his throat, and tried speaking again.

"It is a good look for you, I think," he told her, his eyes flashing back intermittently toward her. "If I … I could be so bold as to say so."

She just frowned at him.

What …? Paling? Trying to hold down bile and starting to smell like sweat and salt? She was beginning to wonder if it would ever come out of her clothes.

But the knight just reached out, catching a handful of her hair as it whipping out behind her in ragged tendrils without her having noticed. After a moment, he was tucking it cleanly back behind her head. He stared then, briefly, and snatched his hand back almost instantly, flushing and twisting hastily away. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer, though, feeling her cheeks start to heat. And then she was looking back toward the sea ahead as well.

After what felt like hours of nothing but water chopping below, men shouting behind, and gulls cawing overhead, Ajantis finally cleared his throat, and turned back to her.

"So this Candlekeep we are to go to," he began, eyes darting back and forth between her and the horizon, "it was your home?"

At her sudden frown, he abruptly cleared his throat once more.

"Your friend, the girl, made mention of it."

She just nodded, looking back away. She could hear him swallowing hard beside her.

"Please … please tell me about it."

She frowned at him again, uncertain. But he gave her a weak, encouraging smile as she did so. Eventually, she let her eyes wander again out to the sea. She sighed. It was an innocent enough thing to ask, at least … she supposed …

So she started to tell him.

She told him about the keep, and its monks … and the books, of course. She told him about their rules, how strict they were, and how dull and stifling her home could really be. About the Inner Rooms, the reading rooms, and how Gorion had forced her to wade painstakingly through copied tomes upon tomes about every last thing she could think of under the sun.

"Fascinating," he uttered incredulously to one side, interrupting her. His eyes were staring as he tried to envision it. "All of that wisdom and knowledge collected through the years …"

But Evelyn just shook her head. Dusty old books, and even older, and more wrinkled monks.

She told him about how they didn't allow wearing armor, or weapons, and how she had eventually been allowed to train with Jondalar instead. About Erik, too, and Winthrop, and the pranks Imoen and her used to play. About magic wards, and floating books, and ghostly voices, and scores of secrets hiding places around each and every corner, in the depths of every room. Marching, endless chants, and roaming tut-tutting monks, and random spells, and … and …

"It sounds like a wonderful place."

… And Evelyn clutched her hands to her stomach, feeling that rolling motion suddenly return with an unsettling lurch. Ajantis hardly seemed to notice, and she nodded her head all the same. "Yes."

"Have you ever visited Waterdeep, my Lady?"

Her eyes flashed up to meet his, hands reaching back numbly for the rail as she swallowed. Why did that always make it worse? She just shook her head.

He glanced back away with a slight grin. "Perhaps I might take you there someday. It is said that there is a portal to Waterdeep somewhere within the monastery."

She didn't know about that. But she did know that her stomach had finally started to settle again. She relaxed just a little bit more as she stood there against the rail.

"What of your family?"

She glanced over at him as he broke the silence again then. That smile on his face began to sober just ever so much.

"I know you said something of your father being murdered." He bobbed his head as he looked away briefly. "But what of your mother? Brothers … sisters?"

She shook her head quickly, though, still rubbing her middle tentatively. "I don't have any. My mother died a long time ago." She had stopped trusting it a long time ago.

For a moment, that face staring her down broke. Pity welled up there, overpowering and desperate all at once. She blinked up at him, but he hardened quickly once more, walling it up behind a mask. And then he faced her down anew, all strength and firm conviction.

"That is a terrible fate for one so pure and beautiful to bear, my Lady," he told her, his voice almost comically soft. "Evelyn. To know so little of a loving and supportive family … and then have it just taken away from you." He clenched a fist.

That hand reached out in the next instant to take her shoulder gently. She was just then starting to straighten herself out just a little.

"I will do whatever it is within my power to make it less for you. I promise you that."

She looked up at him, and tried to smile back at that fierce resolve staring back at her. It came out weak, however, and she grasped his comforting hand in hers. She removed it slowly and gave it back to him, still frowning with the sway of the decks.

"Don't worry about me, Ajantis," she told him softly, not really paying him much attention anymore. And then she felt her stomach suddenly flop. _There it is_. Before she could pull her hand back towards it, though, the knight had swept them both up in his.

"I would not dream of it, my Lady," he said lightly, grinning. "You are one of the strongest and most resilient women I have ever met." He shook his head slowly. "I would not think of worrying needlessly over how you might fare."

Her face paled, and she swallowed. But she nodded her head. She thought that sounded good at least.

"But I _will_ worry over you, my Lady," he continued, drawing in just a breath closer, and pulling her hands toward him. "I would not dare let anything happen to you while it is within my power to prevent it. You have become too precious to me. Far … far too precious."

He was barely more than a few inches from her face now, and she could already feel the bile rising up in her throat. She tried to pull her hands back, but he tugged them close and held her tight.

"My Lady … Evelyn." He sighed deeply at that, closing his eyes briefly before fixing back on her. "You know my affection for you. There is something I have been meaning to–"

"Ajantis–"

"No," he cut her off with a shake of his curly-haired head. "Let me finish. Please … please, my Lady."

She squeezed her eyes shut, all but gagging. Her face and hands felt like ice.

"I have been meaning to," he began anew, paused, and then started again. "I wanted–"

He shook his head, growling in his throat. She felt hers start to burn.

"Evelyn." He finally fixed back on her. "Evelyn …"

He released her, moving both hands up to cup her face. Her eyes flashed open at that, her cheeks puffing out sharply.

The knight just closed his eyes after another moment, muttering, "Helm forgive me …"

And then he started to lean forward.

Evelyn was bolting out of his grasp almost instantly and throwing herself over at the side of the boat. She didn't hold back another moment – she couldn't. She loosed her entire stomach over and down into the Sea of Swords below.

She finally lost. That battle she had been waging all morning with her stomach she had finally lost. She tried to hold back the tears – tried not to let them well up as acid scoured her throat. But it was useless. Eventually, she just gave up … and hung there, retching loudly and wretchedly down into the rolling waters.

After what seemed like an eternity of burning, miserable torture … she felt a hand on her. It was the knight, she was sure. He tentatively patted her back after another moment, and then began rubbing it comfortingly through her cloak. It helped … a little. Just a little.

And when she was finally done – when there was nothing left but bile to gag out over the side to the churning, swimming sea – she tried to mutter her thanks back at the man. But it came out as a pitiful set of moans and grunts. When she eventually _did_ manage to straighten enough to glance back behind her, however … he was gone.

Evelyn only stared for a moment, though. Just a moment. And then she went right back to dry-heaving.

Whatever else happened … she didn't think she was going to be eating anything again for a long, long time.

* * *

"Drink this."

Evelyn took the proffered flask from the druid, eyeing it suspiciously for a moment. She was far too weak and unsettled to resist, though, and quickly drank it down. As scorched as her throat was, she couldn't taste a thing. Still, the feel of it plunking into her empty stomach hardly helped her any. She could have sworn that she heard an echo.

"I gave some to the girl as well," Jaheira was saying as Evelyn handed her the flask, leaning back against several barrels behind. She was at the prow, and had just been getting comfortable again with her stomach when the two half-Elves had shown up – Khalid looming close over his wife's shoulder. They had moved quickly in on her once they had come on the deck.

She supposed that she had been making a scene with all her retching – she had kept it down for so long. Or maybe Ajantis had warned them. She didn't know. All she did know now was that there were a few more glances thrown her way from among the sailors still working about the decks. Next to the captain's mistress, though, she didn't see how her dry-retching could be all that interesting.

Jaheira eyed her for a few moments, but said nothing. Eventually she stood, sighing.

"I was to see to the captain," she said, frowning. "I cannot say I trust his breed overly much. Best to be sure he is still on course and does not intend to just throw us overboard and make for Amn, gold in hand."

She turned toward her husband.

"Watch her."

The other canted his head simply enough.

Evelyn sat there for a few moments, as the older woman strode quickly away, trying to feel the draught go to work on her innards as quickly as she could. There was nothing left inside of her to pump back out and overboard, though, so she supposed that she didn't have to worry about too much at least. But then the thought struck her that she had just _put_ something new in there. And with that, she almost felt herself gag.

It passed. Slowly.

Khalid was watching her – or keeping an eye on her at least. He was glancing around toward the decks often enough, and keeping an eye on the working sailors as well, those men hauling a few more crates and tying ropes, and leaping up ladders made of ropes. His eyes darted after Jaheira too, where she had just made it up to the helm to stalk boldly up to the captain. That woman was still hanging tightly on his shoulder like a second skin.

"Khalid."

The man turned back around to face her at the sound of her voice, still crouching low between her and the rest of the deck. He raised an eyebrow toward her curiously.

"Y-yes?"

She looked away from them, and glanced back down at him. Her stomach had begun to feel just a little bit better, and she had suddenly remembered something then.

"Yesterday," she began slowly, softly, "when we were in the thieves' guild …"

She trailed off, brow furrowing. He just waited, both eyes widening expectantly. Eventually she frowned back up at him.

"That man called you a Harper …"

She stopped, seeing the other's face tense just a little. That frown only deepened on her own face. She didn't have to say anything more.

The half-Elven man was quiet for a few moments, and his lips twitched upward as she searched his eyes. It was all the answer she needed. And, for a moment, he didn't have to give her anything more.

She knew what Harpers were – Gorion had made her read something about them a long time ago. If nothing else, he seemed to want her to know something of their philosophy at least. It didn't seem so strikingly profound next to a lot of the things she had ended up reading, and all of it had just started to run together after awhile. But she remembered something about just how secretive and subtle they were all supposed to be. It might have certainly explained a few things, she knew.

Khalid just eased himself down beside her, not staring at anything for a then he reached over and took her hand in his.

"W-without a past," he told her quietly, "no being can appreciate what th-they have, and where they may be going."

She gave him a bemused look, but he just smiled back at her, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

"Gorion was a H-Harper too," he continued simply. "He l-left after one l-last, important mission … and settled down with _you_."

She stared at him. And then she was trying to make her jaw work. But, for a moment, she didn't know what to say. She looked away, and then twisted right back around toward him.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

He started to open his mouth to answer. But then a familiar voice was calling from across the deck.

"Khalid!"

Jaheira stood there a dozen paces away, hands on hips and looking flustered. She was gesturing impatiently for her husband to join her.

"Come. The … captain … is proving difficult."

The man rounded back on her briefly, smiling once more. He just reached a hand out to clasp her shoulder, and stood.

"He would be p-proud of you."

He was moving swiftly away before she could say anything more, joining his wife and then making toward the other end of the ship, the captain, and the helm. She didn't watch as he left.

Evelyn hadn't smiled back at him. And she wasn't smiling then. Instead, she pulled her knees to her chest, forgetting just where she was for a moment as she tucked her head down atop them. It was terrible, though, and far too hard not to think about it.

Whatever she had thought about bringing that thing inside of her to Beregost, or even Baldur's Gate … she couldn't even imagine what it would be like returning home. His words had brought that thought crashing back down upon her. They wouldn't have seen anything different – not much anyways – but she would know. _She_ would know. And she knew better than anyone that she had no right to call that place home anymore. She had no right to call any place home anymore until that man was dead.

_Proud_ …

She could have almost spat the word.

A monster – or a demon, she wasn't quite sure – that was what she would be bringing back home. Gorion's home. _Her _home. They would never know the difference. But _she_ would know … And the only reason that she didn't turn back – that she didn't throw herself overboard and just swim away – right then … was because she knew that _he_ would be there.

_A Harper_ …

She shook her head, slowly.

A Harper would have killed her if he knew what she was – what she had become. He would not be proud of her. Gorion would not be proud of her. He would have either run, wailing in horror … or he would have flayed her to bone right there on the spot. She had murdered too many … too many …

Maybe Jaheira and Khalid would …

She had let those thoughts eat away at her for a time. But she stopped suddenly at that, deafening silence ringing loudly between her ears for a moment. She blinked.

The sun had pulled west into the sky. After a few moments, she stood up, and started back across the deck. There was one thing, she knew, that she _could_ do just then.

Gorion had been prodding her all along.

* * *

"Mulahey."

"Mulahey?"

"I saw him," she explained slowly. "He was dead, and I could have destroyed him. I tried to, but … but …"

"But?"

Evelyn shook her head.

"Gorion stopped me. I just had to drive the dagger right through him …"

She clenched both her hands, and unclenched them, almost feeling it back there within. When she realized what she was doing, though, and the vacant look that had stolen over her face … she snapped herself hastily back, blinking quickly.

"But Gorion stopped me. And then," she continued, looking up almost fretfully, "it stabbed _me_." She thumped a thumb to her heart. "But I woke up." She shook her head. "Something told me that I would learn. I could hear it even after it ended, and I was awake."

Evelyn was staring down at her hands, sniffing sharply and biting back the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She didn't like to be reminded of it – of how a part of her had wanted to turn that bone dagger on Gorion instead. But she didn't tell the other that. She didn't dare. Eventually, she looked up.

Dynaheir was sitting cross-legged on the bunk across from her, staring thoughtfully off into space with her dark lips pursed. Evelyn mimicked her on the opposite bunk, Minsc's bunk, and just waited for her to speak. The towering Rashemi was standing just outside, guarding that door. From what, she didn't know … but it was nice to have that privacy all the same.

"A strange dream that," the other woman mused aloud, "and ominous." Her eyes drifted back down to fix Evelyn's own. "I would say that thou wert called upon to commit a blood sacrifice. Yet, thou didst not, and thy punishment came swiftly."

Evelyn just nodded her head. She could hardly know if that were true – it had happened so long ago. But she scarcely had a better explanation for any of it. Aside from herself, the Rashemi witch was the only one who had ever even tried to explain it. But that might have had something to do with the fact that she hadn't told anyone else just yet.

"Something dark gropes for thee, Evelyn," Dynaheir continued, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, "I wouldst say … something sinister." She cocked her head slowly to one side. "But when the dark seduces thee, it offers rewards and intimidates. Was anything promised to thee if thou had killed Mulahey?"

She shook her head, looking back down toward her hands. "No," was all she said. The other woman's eyes bored into her for a few long moments then, she could feel it. She said nothing, though, and eventually Dynaheir just clicked her tongue.

"Tell me more." She extended a hand quickly. "If thou wouldst."

Evelyn did. She leaned back against the swimming walls of the cabin where the two Rashemi would sleep, and told her all about the other dreams. She told her about the bandit camp full of shadow-spirits, and the statue of her far below the earth being broken by that same bone dagger. She told her about Gorion and Candlekeep, and how he kept appearing to warn – or scold – her only to be torn apart by unseen fiends and lain broken upon the ground, his blood dripping down from and staining her own hands as she stood above him. And she told her about a river of blood – a world of blood – and a demon swallowing her whole and wearing her face.

At the last she started shaking, and she stopped abruptly. When she looked up, she caught the wide-eyed surprise on the other woman's features for just a moment before she hastily smoothed them over. When Evelyn did not speak further, Dynaheir finally cleared her throat.

"Nightmares art often the revelations of our deepest fears," she explained evenly. "And fears art grounded in lies," she shook her head slowly, "be that the lies of others … or of thine own heart."

Evelyn frowned at that, but shook her own head right back after a moment.

"Then what am I afraid of?" she asked the other woman. Dynaheir merely raised an eyebrow at her.

"Thou wouldst best answer that on thine own," she told her. And then she took a deep breath, sighing. "But if I shouldst be so bold as to venture a guess?" She raised that eyebrow at Evelyn again. "I wouldst say that thou art afraid that 'tis thine own fault Gorion died. 'Tis something inside thee that thou feareth will, and must, rule thee. And that thou art afraid that thou wilst become that very thing and destroy others that thou carest about … as thou thinketh thee destroyed Gorion."

Evelyn just stared at the other for a moment. And then her face twisted pitifully. She just nodded her head, not saying anything. She missed the Rashemi's comforting smile in return.

When she was moving past the witch's bunk towards the cabin door, Dynaheir reached out a hand to her arm, pulling her back.

"Thank thee for thy trust," she said softly. Evelyn tried a smile in return, but she was afraid that it came off as more of a grimace. Dynaheir squeezed her arm all the same.

"Often a willing ear 'tis all thou needst to find some peace," the other told her. "A stranger 'tis not always the preferred choice," she continued, "but I wouldst be that willing ear when thou needeth it."

Evelyn just nodded again, hoping her smile a little more gracious that time. And then she was back out into a cramped passage below decks, the door closing behind her. Minsc was looming then at her side.

The giant Rashemi flashed her a toothy grin, standing there tall and erect beside the door. Evelyn returned it in kind as best she could. A voice was sounding dully from back within the room.

"Minsc?"

Without another word, the Rashemi was gently easing his way past her, and darting inside the cramped cabin behind. Evelyn only stared after him for a moment before starting away.

The narrow halls were empty, and she made her way down them and back towards her own cabin with Imoen on the opposite end of the ship. As she rounded a corner, though, she thought she caught sight of a fleeting form as it vanished up the steep ramp toward the deck.

She frowned, stopping dead in her tracks. Then she started up again. But she didn't go back to her cabin. Instead, she followed that dark figure up.

Night had fallen on deck. When she had finally gone below to see the Rashemi witch it had already been late in the afternoon. Now there were only a few sailors left up top – she could just tell them by the sounds of their voices and the dim moon and starlight. Captain Havarian had retired some time ago with his mistress. She had heard them easily enough through the walls as she passed.

The salty sea air was cold now, though, and Evelyn wrapped her cloak in her arms tightly about her. Clamping her teeth firmly together, she noticed the sailors on deck now likewise bundled as well, though they remained largely barefoot still. Evelyn only shook her head as she passed, heading toward the aft of the ship.

It had been there that she had seen that retreating form go, and it was there that she found the Elf.

The ranger was staring off into the sea as she approached behind. He seemed already deep in thought, and she could have thought she might have surprised him when she settled in quietly at his side. But she knew better. For a while, she just stared off with him.

"_Alu'Tel'Quessir_."

Evelyn blinked, and looked over at the Elf. But he was still gazing off toward the horizon.

"What?" she asked simply, but the other only slowly shook his head.

"I do not care for it at all," he muttered to himself. "I would much prefer home." He tipped his head to one side, still not looking at her. "I ache for it." His voice dipped low at the last.

Evelyn stared at him for a moment. Before she could say anything, though, his eyes were hastily flashing toward hers, his face twisting irritably.

"You shelved me with the Evereskan," his voice rumbled at her from deep in his throat. "As if I would care to listen to him prattle on about the LastHome." And then he leaned forward just a little more, his voice dropping low again. "I will go to the Green Isle when I am done."

She stood there in silence for a few moments longer, eying him worriedly from one side. He seemed to feel that gaze upon him after a time, and eventually let his head fall, muttering something in Elvish to himself. He twisted back around toward her once more.

"Why are you bothering me, Evelyn?" he growled, eying her back. "What do you want?"

But she just remained still, her face smooth. She arched an eyebrow at him, and then slowly looked away toward the dark horizon.

"Nothing."

"Nothing …"

He bobbed his head irritably for a moment more. And then he tore it away. She waited until he had grown quiet and the soft sound of the calm waves below was all that she could hear before she finally opened her mouth once again.

"Are you thinking about Tazok?" she asked softly. Those two brown eyes rounded back upon her.

"Deheriana."

"Oh."

She stopped for a while again, letting him think in peace. Eventually, though, she glanced back toward him, now staring vacantly down into the dark waters. She frowned thoughtfully.

"What will you do when he's dead?"

The ranger sighed, not looking at her. He was quiet for a few moments more before he answered.

"If I am not dead," he grunted. "I will go to Evermeet. Then I will go to Arvandor. I shall bring her the heart of her murderer, and beg forgiveness."

Evelyn grimaced just a little. But she still managed a weak smile toward him in the next moment. "I hope you do," she told him as hopefully as she could all the same. She even nodded her head a little for emphasis as she did.

He looked over at her, face twisting doubtfully. He stared at her for a long while before turning back away. "Why does it matter …?" His voice was low.

She winced again, but kept that encouraging look on her face for him, even if he couldn't see it just then. "Because you deserve it," she told him. "Because you should be happy. I think she would want it that way."

He glanced back over at her, and twisted away just as quickly when he caught sight of the look on her face.

"And how do you know what she would want?" he muttered. "You do not even know _her_."

The smile bled away quickly enough at that, and she sobered. She stared at him for a moment, and then returned to the sea. It was several long minutes before either of them spoke again.

It could have been any night – she remembered. For a moment, it could have been any one of them. She frowned, and then she dropped a hand down to meet the other. She could guess at a dead woman's thoughts, at least. She tugged something off of her forefinger.

"Do you remember this?" she asked him, holding the ring up so that he could see. His eyes came slowly back around, and caught sight of it. He did not answer her, though. He just stared at it, and then at her.

She dropped it in her hand and pushed it toward him.

"I want you to have it, Kivan."

He just kept staring at her. And then his jaw started to work.

"I gave it to _you_."

She smiled weakly back at him. "And now I'm giving it to you."

He did not move to take it. His eyes were staring blankly down at her hand. After another moment, she took one of his own, opened it, and pressed it there into the glove. He didn't fight her, or resist. He just kept staring.

"You've saved my life enough times," she told him softly. And then she closed that hand, pushing it back towards him. "It will protect you."

He still didn't say anything. She took a deep breath, sighing.

"I want to help you, Kivan." She was still smiling encouragingly up at him. "I want to be there with you at the end."

He didn't answer her. She didn't expect him to. She just kept that hand on his for a moment longer, squeezing gently. And then she turned away.

She left him, feeling just a little bit better. She strode away, leaving him in peace with his thoughts once more. As tired as she was, she could still feel happy for that. She thought it best, at least. She climbed back quickly down toward the decks below and out of sight.

She didn't look back at the Elf as she went. She didn't look back to see him standing there long after she had gone. And she certainly didn't see him lift up that hand clenched tight until it stretched out over the railing of the boat. Instead she went to sleep soundly down below, Imoen blessedly quiet and her feeling much better with the druid's draught having gone to work long ago inside each of them. Her dreams, she could hope … might not be so bloody that night.

But the ranger stood there for a long time after Evelyn had gone, fist stretched out and over the rail. He stared straight ahead, his face smooth, and still as stone. The water swelled out from behind the boat beneath that gloved hand far below.

And eventually …

He opened it.


	64. Chapter 6 Full Circle

_**Full Circle**_

_THWACK!_

Evelyn sucked in a sharp breath as the two lengths of wood abruptly met … a whole inch away from her face. But she only had the briefest of moments to be surprised before it withdrew, spun about, and was flashing toward her skull once more. She leapt aside just as it would have struck, twisting down and away as it howled over her right through the air. The other grunted, swung vengefully again with a roar, missed, stabbed air, and then lunged at her. Her boot took him at the side of the neck.

Ajantis whirled violently around as he lurched forward face-first, back striking hard on the deck below. He grunted at the blow, thrusting himself instantly back up on reflex before collapsing down once more. Almost at once, clapping erupted all around them.

Evelyn tried to ignore the sailors. They had been giving both her and Ajantis a hard time ever since the knight had come up on deck to meet her with those new practice blades he had bought back while they had been in Baldur's Gate. There was no little laughter and jeering among that applause as well, though, and the curly-haired man's face burned red as he rolled onto his side. But it was half-hearted – patronizing more often than not – and those men were soon back about their duties at the sharp call of their captain. Evelyn stuck a hand down to the knight.

He eyed her dubiously for a moment before taking it, and she helped haul him back up to his feet. He was frowning at her.

"We were practicing blades …"

She just frowned right back.

"You were asking for it."

And he shook his head.

"I was making it easy for you," he explained almost irritably. "You let yourself be fooled – it was for a reason. You should have known better than to be so surprised when I stopped."

She shrugged a little self-consciously, and looked away, sweeping a hand back through her damp hair. The wind picked it up and started to whip it wildly about, though. One of these days, she was going to have to just cut most of it off. The knight had nearly caught her too many times because of it.

Ajantis was rubbing gingerly at the side of his neck, and he picked up the practice blade that had fallen away from his feet before making his way over to the side of the ship. He dropped himself down there atop a small stack of crates with a grunt. For a moment, Evelyn didn't notice him.

Kivan had been watching them practice. So had Xan. On top of the rolling deck, it had been that much harder to concentrate wondering just what the ranger might have thought of what she had learned since she had last seen him. She worried that it was pitifully little. Xan couldn't have cared as much. And neither Elf seemed to care overly much for the deck, now crowded with sailors as they worked to keep the ship afloat … or whatever it was they were doing. They had both left soon enough.

It was the second day since they had set sail, Captain Havarian standing up on the aft deck and gazing off toward the coast horizon while a man held the helm before him. That dusky-skinned woman wasn't with him this time at least. Evelyn hadn't cared for the look of her at all. And from what she had gathered from just how the rest of the crew had acted, it seemed as if they somehow expected her, or even Jaheira to start flouncing about as well. Imoen and Dynaheir had stayed below decks.

She was just about to think that might have been a good idea for her too, taking a step almost as if to return below. But the knight was abruptly calling to her.

"Evelyn."

She looked toward the man. He beckoned her toward him with a loose hand, still breathing a little hard and sweating from their sparring. She frowned at him, but he wasn't looking, just gesturing. Eventually, she came over, though.

"Let me see your blade," he said as she neared, still slumped over and balancing his head between his legs. Arching an eyebrow at him, she slid it free of its sheath.

He looked up, and shook his head after studying it quickly for a moment. "See those notches," he pointed, and she glanced down. "I should have warned you of how to care for it when I gave it to you."

He gestured again, and she handed the Kara-Turian blade over to him. Almost instantly he had a stone pulled free from a pocket on his coat. He started to go to work scraping it along the length of steel, explaining as he did so. For her part, Evelyn tried to listen as best she could.

Eventually, though, she was fixing on something in the distance. A big gray splotch in the distance. While Ajantis kept talking, she stopped listening, squinting her eyes for a few minutes toward the horizon. All too soon, she was sure just what that thing was.

"Candlekeep …"

She barely more than breathed the word, eyes going wide. The knight glanced up at her, brow furrowing. "My Lady?"

She looked down at him briefly, face slack.

"Candlekeep." She pointed a hand out toward that growing spot on the distance. "There it is," she added softly after a moment.

The knight stood, spinning around until he was standing, looking out beside her. He shielded his eyes with a hand.

Eventually, Ajantis looked down at her, grinning broadly. Her face remained stiff for a moment more, but then she was smiling back at him. They both turned to watch that citadel move slowly past on the horizon.

After a few more minutes, she realized that it _was_ moving slowly past. Evelyn blinked, frowning. And then she took a step back.

"What …"

She glanced sharply up to Havarian, still standing there at the aft, staring off toward where Candlekeep was drifting past as well.

"Hey!" she shouted up at him.

The helmsman blinked at her, and the captain shifted after a moment, looking over in surprise as well. But she just started stabbing a finger exaggeratedly toward the horizon as if the man somehow had not seen.

"There it is!" she shouted at him. "That's Candlekeep!"

The captain just raised an eyebrow at her.

"I know that, lass!"

And then he turned back.

Evelyn waited, but they didn't get any closer. That grey splotch stayed right on the edge of the horizon. Maybe the man hadn't heard her …

"That's it!" she cried again, still pointing. "That's it! Where are you going?"

Now it was that other's turn to get irritated. He twisted back about, dropping the rod he had had set against one eye.

"What are you about, girl?" he shouted back. "You planning on climbing a league's worth of cliffs? I'm sure the monks will just welcome you with open arms after that!"

She blinked.

_Right._

She turned away, feeling her cheeks heat just a little. The captain wasn't done with her yet, though.

"We'll be finding an old lighthouse to the south, love," he continued on. "Where there'll be a breath between the Sirines and the rocks! Be my guest if you want to hop overboard and swim, though, lass!"

No. She didn't.

She was scowling as she turned back to watch Candlekeep dwindle away on the horizon. After a little while, Ajantis had a hand on her shoulder.

She took him up readily on his offer to spar some more then. With that brief sight of her old home, no matter how far away, her purpose suddenly shown like a beacon in front of her once more. She would need that practice. She would need all she could get.

And the knight seemed more than happy to oblige.

* * *

It was several hours later before the horizon finally did start to draw near.

"Anchor! Anchor, mates!"

Havarian hopped down from the aft deck, hurrying over to where a handful of sailors were hauling a big metal piece over the side of the ship. In another moment, it was plunking down into the rolling waters below. The sails atop the mast had followed quickly, and soon enough the ship was still but for that steady rocking.

Evelyn gazed out over the side of the boat again, towards a much nearer shore, where a steady face of cliffs abruptly dipped down, cleft in two. Just above them rose a smooth-faced pillar of stone thrusting up toward the sky. Panes of cracked glass crowned it at the top.

"Not much use in coming to it at night," the captain was saying, leaning in against the rail next to Ajantis and staring ahead, "seeing as it's abandoned. But we'll avoid the sharp rocks anyways."

He turned toward them after a moment.

"Gather your friends, mates," he told them. "We'll be traveling light."

Jaheira, Khalid, and the others were up on deck soon enough, and not long after the sailors were hoisting two large rowboats over the side. In no time at all, they had filled both, and were rowing steadily toward shore.

Evelyn found herself sitting stuffed in between Ajantis and Minsc, Imoen and Dynaheir sitting across from them. Two of Havarian's crew were behind, rolling those heavy oars in tandem. The captain was there as well, and so was his mistress. It was just her luck.

She twisted about to catch sight of shore briefly once, catching that dusky-skinned woman's painted eyes instead. The woman sported a small smile on darkly painted lips as well, turning those eyes down on Evelyn as she turned. The other took her in all at once, and then gave her a disdainful look before Eve could settle swiftly back around. She could not have kept the crimson from her cheeks, no matter how much she wanted to.

Havarian stood as they maneuvered through a slew of jagged rocks, poking up like daggers from the water about. And then they were at a small, craggy beach in that cleft between the cliffs. The captain leapt easily out onto sharp pebbles and sand, but Evelyn was barely a moment behind him, only regretting her haste as she felt water soak through her leggings to the knees. She sloshed her way quickly ashore.

"Afraid that's the best I can do, me friends," Havarian was saying as the other boat came to rest, Khalid, Jaheira, and the Elves pouring out. "So this is where we'll be saying our farewells. Doubt we'll be meeting again any time soon."

"Thank you, Captain," Jaheira said, giving him an overly sweet smile as she and her husband crunched their way along the stones and past. That coppery-skinned woman still had the same small smile of her own painted to her face as they passed. She had not left the rowboat.

"All in a fair day's work, my lady," Saemon flourished a bow toward the druid. Jaheira didn't even notice.

"_Saemon_ …," the painted woman in the boat all but purred, twisting a ringlet of dark hair in one hand. The captain turned toward her with a broad grin.

"Aye, love?"

He took a step toward the boat and drew in close to her face. She started fingering at the lace along his coat.

"You know, lover," her eyes flashed coquettishly upward, "there is a rumor of where the legendary Black Alaric dumped his treasure before being captured by the Amnish fleets somewhere _very_ near here …"

"Heard it from that old bloke sea dog before me, aye?"

"Yes, dear," she tapped a slender finger to his lip, her teeth flashing, "but now there is _only_ you. And _since_ we are on our way to Amn …"

Havarian swallowed her in a deep kiss before she could finish, and came out grinning even more broadly than she. He glanced briefly back toward the others gathered on the beach.

"Candlekeep'll be to your north, friends," he told them simply, gesturing with a hand. "It's a rough bit o' country here, but I'm sure you'll manage. Keep an eye out for wolves."

Jaheira made an irritated sound in her throat. Evelyn thought she heard her say something about "amorous Calishites" before giving Khalid a pointed look. Without another word, both were hefting packs over their shoulders and starting up a narrow trail toward the cliffs above.

The captain had an arm wrapped snuggly about that woman, though, whispering loudly enough so that Evelyn could hear as they turned away.

"Black Alaric you say, love …? Tell me more. Perhaps we'll even extend our stay …"

Imoen was prodding her in the ribs with an elbow. And then she was hurrying up after the others as well.

* * *

The march north to Candlekeep almost proved as long as Evelyn could have hoped. The Widower had sailed several hours further south along the Sword Coast just to find that abandoned lighthouse, and it took them far longer than that to retrace their path back to the keep on foot. Jaheira promised that they would reach the library before nightfall. Evelyn could only be a little disappointed at that.

She didn't talk much as she marched, picking her way along behind the giant Rashemi and the others as Jaheira led them through whatever beaten woodland paths she could find. Kivan didn't help her. He remained at their back. Every so often she would catch sight of him as Ajantis or Imoen pushed a branch aside ahead of them. He was always staring straight ahead, stone-faced and grim. He didn't speak at all.

Evelyn felt that same grimness begin to settle over her like a gray pall with each step she took closer to her old home. It was closing off her feelings, burying them slowly one by one. It was protecting her. It was giving her the strength to do what she knew she would have to do when the time finally came. And it was taking away anything that might distract her or slow her down. She could not die before she had done just what she must. She could feel that certainty forming in her stomach like a pit – gaping wide within her shell where her heart used to be.

He would be there. She could feel it …

She had been surprised, sometime later, to look up and see Jaheira suddenly trudging along at her side.

The woman had given her a brief look before turning her eyes forward once more. After a little while, she had cleared her throat.

"Despite what the Grand Duke might think or want," she had begun, pursing her lips, "we will not shed blood within the walls of the library. Not unless we absolutely must."

Evelyn had blinked. And then she looked sharply to the other woman as if she had just suddenly gone mad. She had almost stopped dead in her tracks. And Jaheira had only arched an eyebrow at that look on her face.

"Oh, we will kill them certainly," she had added quickly, pulling the raven-haired woman along again by the arm. "But we will do it on our own terms. Eltan might not bother over it, but I should certainly not like to be carted off to the dungeons of Baldur's Gate in irons should we be caught doing murder." Jaheira had shaken her head as they trudged on. "Assuming that the monks do not administer their own manner of justice, of course. They would, I should think."

Evelyn looked away, managing to keep her feet moving as she did so. The other woman had continued on at her side, silent for a moment and waiting. Eventually, Evelyn nodded her head slowly beside her.

"Evelyn."

She had glanced back again at the druid. Those dark eyes bored into her intently.

"You must promise me that you will not let personal feelings overcome you within the keep. There is vengeance, and there is folly." She had gestured with her head back behind her. "Take a lesson of it from the Elf." And then she had a hand on Evelyn's arm. "I would have Gorion's only child _survive_ all of this."

She had known just what that look the older woman had given her then was for. It had been for what she had done that night that Yeslick had died. It had been for what she had done that night she had tried to solve matters on her own. It had been telling her that she had been foolish, and that Jaheira didn't want her to dare make the same mistake again.

Again, she had nodded.

The half-Elven woman had hardly seemed satisfied. But there was little else she could have done. After a few moments more, she had quickened her pace to join her husband ahead. It was all that she had been going to say on the matter – for now. But it still cut at her like a knife. To be so close. To wait that much longer.

She was right, though. Evelyn knew that only all too well. She had lived inside the library-fortress all of her life. She knew their rules only too well.

But the druid was not the only one to push her along the way.

"You have not said just what you will do when you finally face these men who murdered your father."

Evelyn pushed a branch full of needles out of her way … or tried to. The knight was suddenly there and doing it for her in her stead. She glanced up as he spoke, and he flashed her a hasty grin. But it bled all too quickly from his face from that look that must have been on hers. She continued on without a word.

Ajantis caught up to her quickly, though. She heard him pause for only a moment before hastening again to her side. He was frowning as he spoke to her then.

"Justice will be served here, my Lady," he assured her, his voice low. "But I must beg you _not_ to consider lowering yourself to base murder to accomplish it.

"I know we have not spoken of it," he cleared his throat at the look she suddenly gave him, "but your actions thus far speak of where you will find yourself in the end."

His hand was on her arm, and he pulled her back around to a halt. He leaned in close, lowering his voice even further.

"I fear all too much that you have been born of blood, Evelyn," he told her, "and only to blood do you believe that you will finally come to rest. Do you?"

He had her by both arms, bearing down intently upon her. She didn't look at him. Instead she was glaring hard into his chest.

"Do you, Evelyn?"

He shook her just a little, and she turned that look up toward his face. His dark eyes narrowed back down at her.

"Hey, you two! Move it!"

Imoen pushed between them, forcing the knight away from Evelyn with a hand. The pink-haired woman looped her fingers through the straps of her pack over her coat, rounding back on them as she pressed on after the others.

"I wanna get home before dark, Eve," her best friend said. "You better not slow us down. 'Ol Puffguts is gonna be real mad I've been gone so long without telling him."

For a moment, that bitter anger bled out of her faster than anything. For a moment, she actually managed to smile back at the other woman. Imoen gave her a pointed look, her eyes flashing aside toward Ajantis. It was a warning, nothing more. And then she was pushing on through the brush ahead. Evelyn was left alone with the knight.

"Do not let yourself be blinded by hate, my Lady," the curly-haired man was saying. She rounded back on him just in time to see the hard look he was giving her then in turn. "You must be vigilant. Should these men engage us, then we shall surely right them. But I warn you against murder for murder's sake. Nothing good can come of it."

His voice grated on her at the last. She shook her head slightly once more.

"What do you know?" she demanded quietly.

She left it at that for a moment. The knight started to answer, but she cut him off swiftly.

"It wasn't your father."

She just stared up at him, and he opened his mouth as if to say something more … but the branches behind them parted abruptly, and the knight twisted back around.

Kivan paused for a moment as he caught sight of the two. And then the knight was looking at her again. His eyes seemed to communicate wordlessly that warning once more before he turned away. He pressed quickly on through the trees ahead.

The ranger didn't say anything. He just stalked on grimly past.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut hard. She swallowed back the bile in her throat.

And she continued on.

The trek was even quieter then. Much to her relief, no one else came up and tried to convince her at the last moment of just how futile killing Gorion's murderers might be once she finally found them inside her old home. The thought of it started to boil up inside of her as she continued, quickly burning away the grim determination that she had built up earlier to ash like it had never been. She fumed as she took her turn trudging at their back behind the ranger.

Imoen found her way back there at some point. For a moment, Evelyn had thought she might give her some kind of warning as well. But the other woman had just clasped an arm around her best friend instead, squeezing her tight as they walked.

"We'll get him, Eve," she said simply, her voice low and strangely fierce. "We'll get him."

A knife appeared within her free hand, twisting idly about her fingers. It was like that night so long ago in the Friendly Arm Inn when Imoen had learned about that man trying to kill her in her room. Unlike then, though, the knife finally caught in the palm of her hand, her knuckles flashing white as her fist suddenly clenched.

She seemed to realize just what she was doing quickly enough, and that knife disappeared almost as readily as it had come. Then she had flashed her best friend a hasty grin. It faded quickly.

They finally stopped sometime later that afternoon.

Her old home was still some hours away, but hard marching through what Evelyn laughably thought Jaheira called "trails" had eventually begun to take its toll. And so the druid had finally decided to allow them some rest. That even Imoen had not complained a word did not surprise her in the least. Her best friend had not left Candlekeep behind forever. She, at least, still had something to go back to.

Evelyn understood that. She understood why Imoen wanted to finally go back so much. She understood Jaheira, and Khalid, and Kivan, and even the two Rashemi – a little. Ajantis, too, she thought she could understand. But something was still gnawing at her along with everything else. And when she saw the Elven mage disappear while the others began pulling what little food they had thought to bring out from their packs, Evelyn followed him into the dense brush and away.

It didn't take her long to find him. A few whipping branches and swatting masses of needles and leaves later, she pushed out into a small clearing – barely more than a breath between the trees. Xan was waiting for her when she finally did.

At first, she thought that he might have been trying to relieve himself, and she felt her cheeks flush briefly at intruding. But then she realized that grim, expectant look for what it was. He merely waited, not entirely surprised, but not entirely pleased that she was there either. Eventually, she spoke.

"You've been quiet."

She said it simply, sounding suddenly silly and stupid out loud to her. She did not moving from where she was. He faced her across that small space, studying her in what she was sure was bitter amusement for a moment before answering her back.

"I do not seem to recall that having bothered you, or anyone else for that matter, before."

She bobbed her head, letting her eyes wander away. She was chewing her bottom lip idly when they finally came back.

"I hope it's not because of me."

He almost smiled at her then, but his lips failed halfway through. They settled back heavily once more upon his face. He sighed.

"They say the wise man speaks," he began slowly, his gaze drifting upward to the canopies above as if studying them, "because he has something to say; the fool, because he has to say something.

"I hardly consider myself wise, Evelyn." Those soft brown eyes blinked away, his lips twitching once again, this time into a grimace. "But I would rather not play the part of the fool anymore than I already have."

Evelyn opened her mouth, but snapped it instantly back shut, feeling her eyes start to swell. She swallowed thickly instead, swiping a hand irritably across them as she sniffed. She looked over again at the Elf.

"Xan … I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Evelyn," he assured her quietly, though. "It is I who has been in the wrong here."

She shook her head quickly, opening her mouth to tell him just how wrong he really was. But he beat her to it. Her jaw clamped down hard as he continued softly.

"You are not Tel'Quessir, Evelyn. You are barely more than a child. My fate is sealed one way or another. Yours," he bowed his head with that same grimace, "I would like to think, is far less so. But it feels equally grim," he added. "I should never have burdened you so. I wish you to be free when this tragedy is finally over."

"I will be, Xan," her eyes fluttered angrily shut. One way or another. She took a deep breath. "And you will be too."

If she had anything to do with it.

But the Elf just shook his head slowly.

"Evelyn, you make promises that you cannot keep."

His voice dropped low of a sudden as he continued that thought, but she thought that she heard something about "children" again. It was enough to bring her foot down hard on the ground between them.

"I'M NOT A CHILD, XAN!" Her eyes were wide and fixed. "So just … just stop calling me one."

The Elf was staring hard back through the trees toward where the others must have been, but, for the moment, she hardly cared one bit. He finally settled wearily back on her with a faint nod of his head.

"Fair enough," he barely more than breathed. "But you are still so _very_ young."

For her part, Evelyn finally turned away, anger boiling too hot within her to trust herself to speak to him again just then. A minute of seething silence passed between them. Eventually, she slipped her arms up around her chest and opened her mouth.

"What will you do when this _tragedy_ is over, Xan?"

"Assuming that I survive?"

He could have laughed.

She nodded her head weakly, still turned away and refusing to look at him.

He sighed.

"Once I know all that I need," he began, "then I shall return to Evereska. I will report of all that has happened here involving the iron crisis. I will return to my duties, perhaps be assigned another mission."

His voice was tired – indifferent. She could have seen him shrug off the last as if it really didn't matter. But she did not turn right away.

Again, she numbly nodded her head.

"Good," she let the word drop out of her mouth, eyes flashing back at him briefly. "Good then, Xan. That's what you should do."

She didn't even hesitate. She turned and just walked away, arms still hugging tightly about her. His eyes followed her as she did – she could feel them on her back. And then she was through the brush and the trees.

They left.

The sun was just beginning to brush the edge of the western skies as Candlekeep finally came into view. All at once the forest melted away around them on their left, leaving nothing but a sparsely dotted cliff face crumbling down into the Sea of Swords out of sight below. For a moment, it reminded her of Winthrop – bald and bathed in the pinks and reds of the setting sun. Then it was gone. Her eyes fixed on that towered splotch of gray in the distance, sprawling along those cliffs, instead.

Evelyn could almost have hoped that the sun would set and cast them into dark, forcing them to settle in for the night and continue tomorrow. But she knew it was a vain hope as soon as it sounded inside her skull. As they neared, she could already see the monk coming out to greet them.

And as she felt the grasping shadow of those looming walls fall over her for the first time in over a month, Evelyn could feel a hole opening wide within her like a gaping maw – large enough to swallow a corpse. For a moment … it could have been hers.

She was finally home.

* * *

Evelyn blinked hard in the dark. It was getting harder by the moment to see, and they needed to get inside _now_. The others were trailing out behind her – all except Imoen. She could easily make out Khalid's tipped ears behind and Jaheira's dark eyes just beyond. They could hardly hide there forever.

She rounded back on the building ahead.

The monks had taken the book Eltan had given them at the gates without much fuss, and once past the Emerald Door, another had come to see them to the bunkhouse. But Evelyn had had him take them to the Candlekeep Inn instead. Once he had left them on the doorstep, they had quickly slipped around to the back, following her lead.

If the monks had realized just who she was beneath her hood – she had hoped that few enough would – they had said nothing. And she intended to keep it that way, if only for as long as she could. Imoen had been quick to volunteer to go inside first. After all, she knew Winthrop the best.

There were a few Watchers strolling the grounds that night. Evelyn tore her eyes away long enough to watch as a pair of them passed close by. They were still too far away, though, and didn't see them. But she couldn't have helped holding her breath anyways as they did. She was not about to explain what seven strangers and a woman they probably thought dead were doing skulking about outside the stableyard of the Inn so late.

When she came back, the door was open, and Imoen was waving urgently toward them.

Evelyn didn't waste a moment. Barely more than grazing Khalid's arm, she ducked low and hurried ahead, leaping easily over the stableyard fence and flying forward on the balls of her feet toward the door. Imoen had vanished.

She was plunging instantly into dark as she dashed through the door. She came up short. The other woman was gone, and she suddenly couldn't see anything ahead. She had scrubbed enough pots and pans and hauled enough garbage out to know that the back storage room around her should have led into the kitchens somewhere ahead in that gloom.

Khalid came up fast behind her, but she struck a hand out, forcing him back a step. She took a tentative one forward, willing her eyes to adjust.

"Imoen?"

There was no answer.

She stopped dead in her tracks, hand drifting down to the dagger at her side. The other she stuck out in front of her, trying to feel for what might be there. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She could feel it and–

"AYE, NOW THERE'S THE RAPSCALLION! SET ON THE LITTLE WISP, NOW, AND MAKE EVERY BOLT COUNT!"

Evelyn screamed as that voice leapt out of nowhere, managing a sharp cry back at Khalid and the others as she threw herself aside, seconds away from having her body explode into darts. Something took her roughly in the side as she desperately tried to get out of the way, though, and she was spinning over an upturned barrel as both suddenly went crashing down to the floor. Something spilled out of it, and she landed on her back with a loud grunt.

Light was spilling abruptly into the room. And with it … laughter. Evelyn twisted her eyes back about quickly enough to catch a pudgy, balding man and Imoen sweep forward, candles in hand and giggling uncontrollably.

Someone, at least, was not suddenly laughing at her. Ajantis was there at her side in an instant, hand on hilt and scowling warily about. Jaheira was pursing her lips beside her husband at the door.

"My lady?"

"See? I told you she'd fall for it!"

Evelyn swatted the knight's hand away and scrambled to her feet on her own, glaring hard ahead and still badly shaken. Imoen just kept laughing.

"You shoulda seen your face!"

"Aye, aye," Winthrop managed over his bouncing gut beside her, "that'll teach ye to be sneakin' into _my_ kitchens ever again!" He was slapping his own thigh with a hand by the end of it.

Evelyn just glared at them both.

She didn't think it was so funny …

Imoen was still bright-faced and grinning, though, and took the innkeeper's candle readily as he abruptly made for Evelyn and swallowed her in a mighty hug. "_Oh_," he grunted in her ear, slapping a hand to her back, "it does these ol' bones good to see ye both back, alive and as well as ever …"

Evelyn pulled away after a moment, sobering, but still flushed and a little irritated.

"That wasn't very nice," she finally managed toward the pink-haired woman. Her best friend only scrunched her pixie face up, fists on hips.

"Well I'm not very nice!"

She was laughing again, and someone cleared their throat loudly behind. The three turned quickly to realize that it was Jaheira, standing there with an eyebrow good and angled toward all of them.

"Come, come!" Winthrop was pushing forward almost instantly with a broad grin toward the door. "Friends of Imoen's and Eve's are ever friends of ol' Winthrop!" He started herding them all along with a hand. "And welcome! Come!"

His little sunken eyes bugged out a little at the two Elves. And even more so at the giant Rashemi and his witch. But he made sure to keep that same grin plastered on his broad face the whole while.

"Enough room fer everyone. Into the kitchens with all of you! Ye must be exhausted!" He spared a few furtive looks outside. And then he closed the door behind.

It wasn't long before Evelyn found herself sitting down atop a stool, Imoen straddling the table easily beside her. Dynaheir had taken a seat opposite, Minsc looming behind, Jaheira and Khalid and Ajantis scattered around as well. Xan stood somewhere on the other side of the room, silent as he gazed indifferently away. Kivan still hovered near the door.

Winthrop was busy shuffling about the kitchens, placing a few candles so that they could see. Eventually he made his way over to light a stove, however.

"Tea?"

It was Jaheira who nodded her head.

"Please."

And then her eyes fixed back firmly on Evelyn.

"We'd found Gorion's body some time ago," the fat old innkeeper was saying as he finally eased himself down in a hard-backed chair sometime later, cupping a glass between his pudgy hands. "I knew something was amiss when little Imoen turned up missing as well. Tethoril saw to some of the Watchers checking up on yer trail."

Evelyn buried herself inside her own cup for a moment, not answering. Only Kivan had refused any tea from the old man – him and Khalid. Maybe Xan too, she wasn't sure. Ajantis was shaking his head to one side, but kept quiet.

"What did you do with the …?"

She trailed off, clearing her throat. Winthrop's eyes flashed up briefly to meet hers.

"Saw it buried in the tombs below with the other monks," he told her evenly. "Most of them thought him worthy of it. Most of them. Might not have been a monk," he set his glass aside, "but did as much work – if not more – than some of the best of 'em."

Evelyn nodded her head slowly. That silent moment might have begun to stretch on forever until morning, but the other abruptly clasped his hands and grinned brightly at her.

"What about you two? The others might have worried when they didn't find ye with yer father, but I knew better. 'My Imoen would take care of her', I told 'em I did. And see? Yer ol' pal Winthrop was right."

Imoen flashed her a proud, red-cheeked grin, and Evelyn managed a weaker one in turn.

She took a deep breath.

She told him something of just what had happened then. A little bit. She could feel Jaheira's eyes on her the whole while above the other woman's glass. Dynaheir's too. And when she finally got to the part about the Iron Throne, those dark eyes were all but boring into her.

Jaheira was opening her mouth, looking irritated, but Winthrop spoke first.

"My, my, my." The balding man settled back in his chair. He had drifted forward to the edge of his seat. "Such a lovely, gentle young thing ye were too, lass." He shook his round head. "Gorion would be furious. _Absolutely_ furious."

He laughed at that. And so did Imoen. A little. It died down quickly enough as the moment sobered. Then he was leaning forward, patting a hand to her knee.

"I know he would be proud of ye, Eve. He is," he leaned back, "wherever he be now. Matchin' wits with Oghma and Deneir in the House o' Knowledge, I suppose. Brilliant man, that one."

She even managed a smile back at him.

"But the Iron Throne, child," the old man mused aloud as he was settling his bulk gently back. "Why there be no bigger or more dastardly mercantile consortium in all the Western Realms." He waved a hand. "They've been barred from Cormyr for their unsavory practices, but all it's done is make them nastier.

"Some of their number be here in Candlekeep right now." He retrieved his tea and pushed it quickly to his lips. "But ye'd best steer clear of them as long as ye've still got life in ye."

"You have seen them?"

It was Jaheira's voice that abruptly broke the silence. The innkeeper gave her a dubious look before settling gradually back on Evelyn and Imoen.

"Aye, I've seen 'em," he said. "They reserved a room in the central keep with Ulraunt, so it goes. Conductin' some sort of negotiations with the Knights of the Shield."

"Knights of the Shield …?"

This time it was Ajantis who spoke, frowning in surprise. Evelyn ignored him.

"Where are they?" she demanded instantly of the old man. "Are they staying here?"

The other stared at her for a moment, blinking toward the others as well, and seeming a little overwhelmed by their sudden excitement. It wasn't so much excitement, however, as anxiousness clawing at her from inside of a sudden at the growing certainty that they might actually somehow be so close. But Winthrop finally just shook his head.

"No, no, lass," he told her, "the Throne be stayin' in the bunkhouse. Knights found their lodging here." He sighed. "Wouldn't do to have them both holin' up in here together," he uttered a bit wistfully, "spreadin' their coin around to ol' Winthrop and prying into each others' secrets through closed doors and whatnot."

Evelyn slumped back with a heavy breath. Jaheira was a little more subtle about it. Ajantis was still frowning, and Dynaheir wore that same studiously curious expression. Xan still seemed to pay them all little heed.

She wasn't so sure how good a thing that really was. But before she could think anything more of it, Winthrop was clapping his glass down once more and leaning forward.

"Well, ye must all be about just as tired as these weathered ol' bones, marchin' all day to get here and whatnot, aye?" He stood. "Consider yer stay free, lass – and yer friends too. Ye'll be welcome here as long as ye like. Until the monks kick ye out, of course."

Evelyn smiled weakly up at him, her voice soft. "Thank you, Winthrop."

"Nay, don't be thankin' me, lass," he grunted right back. "It's the least I can do. Gorion was a good friend of mine too, lest ye forget, little one. And ye both be always welcome in my house."

Kivan finally peeled himself away from the back door as the pudgy old innkeeper led them away upstairs, candle in hand.

After the others had been settled in some time later, Winthrop stood with Imoen to one side just within the room he had given Evelyn. The old man glanced at the pink-haired woman, giving her a pointed look and hissing something under his breath. Her eyes flashed bright, and then she was bouncing excitedly off and out of the room. When they were finally alone, Winthrop turned back.

"Evelyn."

She was unclasping her cloak and tossing it down atop her pack on the narrow bed. She looked back up at Winthrop.

"I do hope yer not intendin' to rush off after these Iron Throne men and do justice fer yer father's murder, lass."

She stared at him for a moment, face smooth. Then she returned to her things atop the bed, unfastening her belt and sending the blades to join the rest. She nodded her head simply.

"Even should they be his murderers, Eve," the other continued softly, "Gorion would not have ye disgrace yerself, yer home, and his memory by sheddin' blood in these halls."

His hand was at her back, and she stopped to look up at him again.

"He would not have all that is left of him do murder in his name."

Again, she nodded. Those craggy lines in the other's face furrowed deep.

"His ol' friend Winthrop, however," he added quietly after a moment, suddenly winking, "would have ye wait fer the bastards ta leave … and then ambush 'em in the woods. Just like they did ta you. That be _his_ kind o' justice, lass."

Her smile for him was actually genuine then, and he was chuckling at himself as he studied her. He shook his head slowly.

"Ye be a whole new person, little one," he told her softly, still grinning back. "Gorion would hardly recognize ye. But ol' Winthrop can see his strength in there. Ye'll have these bastards soon enough, methinks." He clapped a hand to her shoulder. "Me? I'll always be proud o' ye, Eve. Dontcha ferget that."

Her face suddenly broke at his words. Before he could say anything else, she had her arms wrapped tightly around his broad girth – as far as they could reach. He just grunted. And then he started swaying slowly back and forth, patting her back. The moment almost seemed to last forever.

"Aw …"

Evelyn pulled back abruptly to see Imoen grinning broadly at them in the doorway. Winthrop let her go, grinning as well. Both of the pink-haired woman's hands were hiding behind her back.

"Got somethin' for ya, Eve."

The raven-haired woman swiped a hand at her eyes, managing a weak "What?" as she sniffed loudly back more tears. The other woman started forward, almost skipping as she did so.

"Was gonna give it to ya before ya left. Before … well, you know."

She waved a hand dismissively aside, rolling her eyes. The other still rested behind her. Winthrop had not stopped smiling at both to one side.

Evelyn was beyond confused, shaking her head. But then that hand finally swung about as the other woman came to a stop before her. She held it up before her best friend, dangling a necklace wide between her fingers.

"Happy Birthday, Eve."

For a moment, all she could do was stare. She froze up, wide-eyed, and disbelieving. Her best friend seized on that brief moment quickly, though, and was reaching up with the crude but painstakingly woven gemstone necklace. She wrapped it down about Evelyn's head. The other was smiling a small smile as she pulled Evelyn's mane of dark hair up and settled it down on her neck.

"There," she said when she was done, looking pleased. "Now you'll always know just who yer best friend in the whole world really is." The old man barked a laugh at her side. "Oh, and he helped too … I guess." She wagged her head, grinning crookedly. "But I was the one who thought it up and put it all together. So that makes me the best friend, I–"

Evelyn didn't even let her finish. The other woman had thumped a thumb proudly into her chest at the last, and Evelyn just crushed it between them as she suddenly squeezed Imoen to her harder than she ever had before in her life. The tears were back almost instantly, but they didn't burn like before. She was laughing instead as she hugged the other tight.

Winthrop was chuckling to himself as Imoen cried out in pain and surprise at the sudden gesture. But then Evelyn's hand was snatching at him too. She pulled him close and, after a few more moments, all three were hugging just as fiercely.

It lasted a long while. It was the happiest Evelyn could ever have remembered being in her life. Only Gorion suddenly walking through that door and joining them then, alive and well, could have made her happier. But he didn't. And, for a little while … just a little while …

… It didn't matter so much.

When she fell asleep that night, twirling the pretty little gemstones on the string around her neck between her fingers, she was still smiling. She hadn't had the heart to point out to her best friend that neither of them really knew just when her birthday actually was. But it didn't matter. All that did matter was that they were finally home. That she had finally brought Imoen back home. And tomorrow … she would make things right. One way or another.

She slept with that same smile on her face all night. It could not have left her had she wanted it too. And, for the first time in a long time … she didn't.

She was finally home …

She was finally … home.


	65. Chapter 6 Bound Demons

_**Bound Demons**_

Evelyn stood, and she stared.

For a time, she almost wondered if that statue might have been staring back. Its eyes were gray and pupil-less. But she could almost feel as if they might have been staring. It had always been why she thought the monks might have left it there, guarding the entrance. Somehow, Alaundo's spirit would be watching with unseeing eyes over all of them, keeping the library safe from any who might think to do it harm. That blind gaze would halt them and turn them back, keeping evil from the sanctity of knowledge within.

But that wasn't true … was it?

She blinked, suddenly remembering where else she had seen that same statue of Alaundo. Or at least, one just like it. That night when she had stolen into the Iron Throne building with Yeslick, that night he had died for her … she remembered seeing one there nestled between the stone pillars. There had been almost countless others decorating that cold, hard place. But she remembered that one distinctly. She hadn't thought much of it just then but …

With that … she hardened.

"My Lady …"

She glanced over as Ajantis took her gently by the arm. He was glancing warily about.

"We will attract notice."

She stared at him silently for a moment. Then she turned back to the statue, nodding her head slowly. They had been standing there for a while. It was time to go … and do what she must.

Gorion was buried down there somewhere within. She had not been there for it. And she had not been there for _him_. But she was here now, and so were his murderers. She could do something about that.

She nodded again. And then she started forward into the library.

She had managed to dissuade Jaheira and the others from accompanying her into the central keep. It had been hard, but, like she had said, it was only to see to just where the leaders of the Iron Throne were and what she could do about them. Besides, she had been told all too many times just how foolish it would be to do anything within the keep. She had promised that she wouldn't. Then, and only then, had the older woman finally agreed.

But she had not been able to keep them all. Imoen was with her. As much as she wanted to keep her best friend from leaving to do anymore, the other woman had grown up in that place just as she had, and was just as qualified to go. Ajantis, too, would not let himself be persuaded to be left behind. No promise she made could have deterred him. She was sure that he was just trying to make sure she didn't do anything foolish, though. Jaheira, at least, seemed to agree with it.

The library was quiet. She passed bookshelf after bookshelf, quiet monk after quiet monk, striding briskly toward those center stairs. It was far different than the very last time she had done so. No eyes followed her as she moved, no disapproving glares for either her or the two that followed. They bore no weapons. For the most part. Evelyn patted that lump against her stomach where Gorion's dagger was hidden. Even Imoen had dumped out all of her knives back at the inn. Evelyn had counted more than fifteen in all. And Ajantis wore no armor, just a wary scowl.

The knight could hardly have hidden the awe behind that look, though. As they reached the stairs, it was all too obviously painted on his face, eyes roving in amazement about the shelves upon shelves of thick tomes lined all around. She glanced at him for a moment, and he caught her – it was gone. He was all stern resolve once more.

She started up.

It was the longest climb she had ever endured.

They made it to the third floor in silence, and both Ajantis and Imoen were pushing quickly on. Evelyn didn't, though. Not so fast. Instead, she felt her feet slowly grind to a halt.

Her eyes found that room at the end of the sprawling marble and crimson carpets beyond the stairwell beneath. She found those double, lacquered doors. They were closed. She just stared at them then.

The other two came to a halt, already halfway up to the next level before they realized that she wasn't following. Imoen thrust herself over the edge of the banister.

"Eve!" she hissed in warning, beckoning her urgently with a hand and looking fierce. They had warned her of this. Evelyn wasn't listening, though. She was still staring ahead across the level.

Ajantis grunted, and then briskly started back down after her, stomping quickly as he did so.

"My lady …" he whispered irritably as he neared. He stretched out a hand to take hers and pull her on. Before he could, however, she was abruptly twisting away.

"Evelyn!" he barked after her. But it was too late. She was already spinning off the stairwell and striding hurriedly across the vaulted chamber toward those doors. She barely noticed the other's hasty footsteps charging after.

She reached the end before he could catch her, though. She could already hear the muffled voices beyond. Winthrop had told her just where they would be when she forced him too, but he hadn't been too happy about it. It was too bad for him – for all of them – though, that it didn't matter much to her at all.

She was going to see.

Her boot crashed into wood, snapping the flimsy latch on the other side free. She could spare a brief note of gratitude that it was not somehow magically sealed. But then that door was swinging wide and slamming hard back on its hinges. She sent the other one to join it swiftly enough for good measure. She was striding boldly inside.

Six sets of eyes moved as one to meet her, and Evelyn came swiftly to a halt. Her own eyes were wide and glaring, cheeks flushed and teeth slightly bared. She could hear Ajantis suddenly burst in behind her.

She didn't care. For a moment, the only thought in her head was that, somewhere amongst those men, were the ones responsible for Gorion's death. Her lips curled back into a rictus grin.

One of those men – dressed all in fine green robes and sporting a full, well-kept beard of rusty brown trailing down his chest – had been speaking as she entered. He hung there still, frozen for a moment. At the knight abruptly joining her, though, the man beside him began to move. The one in green robes stayed him quickly with a small twitch of his fingers.

She recognized that other man. She remembered looking desperately up from a mist of her own blood at that impassive form clad all in black. She remembered him fleeing at the sight of her when she emerged from the Cloakwood mines. And from the look on her face … he recognized her too.

"Rieltar …"

That green-robed man raised his hand even higher, silencing the other. It was the bulky man to his other side that suddenly spoke, however.

"Just what the Hells do ya think yer doing here ya cork-brained, louts?" he demanded instantly of them. "Get out or I'll rib-roast ya, but good!"

"Brunos!" the bearded man snapped at the larger one. That sibilant, slithering accent of theirs was all too familiar to her. And so was the fourth man who abruptly seemed to realize just who she was then. The last time he had seen her, it had been with the butt of her staff cracking into his head. He sported a large bandage there just over his left eye.

"You …" Thaldorn breathed, but one of those other two men was suddenly slamming both hands down on the table between them and the four.

"NOT to insult your demeanor on our first meeting," he began icily toward her and the knight, "but I've met more considerate creatures in the darkest of dungeons! You had best have a _good_ explanation for this intrusion," he started raising his voice. "We were assured that these rooms were to be _quite_ private!"

"Yes, so if you're just about done poking about this _private_ room," that man beside him chimed in with an angry, forced, and chiding grin, "please don't hesitate to get the bloody hell OUT!"

"Eve …"

Imoen was tugging anxiously at her sleeve. She hadn't ever heard the other woman come in. But she didn't turn away. Instead she mirrored all of that anger thrown her way from the six strange men across the room, blinded it, infused it with hate, and let it boil back out of her.

She took a step forward.

That bearded man – Rieltar, she knew he must be – had his other hand on the large one at his side, staying his much broader bulk. "The right people can afford to be rude," he added calmly at the last, "but this is not you. Leave now, before my irate companion Brunos lets his temper get ahead of his reason."

His voice was as cold as ice, and his eyes spoke of a threat far worse than just his companion's muscle pummeling her to a bloody pulp for intruding. Her smile grew twice as wide.

"You're the leaders of the Iron Throne," she told him softly. She made her voice as sweet and honey-filled as she possibly could. "Rieltar Anchev, Brunos Costak …" she looked to each in turn, finally settling on that trembling man at the end, "Thaldorn."

Rieltar's eyes snapped down the line and quickly back again. His dark eyes were surprised and confused, but hardly pleased. Nimbul was fingering his coat beside them and she briefly wondered if he might have hidden a weapon despite the keep's rules. It didn't really matter to her, though, then.

Rieltar opened his mouth to demand who she was, but she didn't let him. She continued in that sing-song tone before he could.

"I'm the one who's caused you so much trouble," she told him proudly, dropping her voice low. "I was at Nashkel. _I_ was at the bandits' camp in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. And _I_ was there at the Cloakwood mines." She paused, and gave him another small smile. "I killed Davaeorn." She stabbed a finger to her chest. "It was _me_!"

She hadn't done all of those things alone. Hardly. But the look on that man's face just then … the look as irritation and anger suddenly turned to unbelievable shock and then murderous rage … the look on the face of the man who had ordered her father MURDERED …!

… It was so terribly divine just then. For a moment … she just bathed in it. She couldn't get enough.

Everything was silent. Nimbul was still fidgeting to one side. Thaldorn had stopped shaking. Brunos was looking to Rieltar in disbelief. Even those other two men – the Knights of the Shield she could only guess – hardly seemed to know just what to say. They were all inevitably rounding on Rieltar. And that man just stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

His face began to tremble beneath his beard.

"You are …" he trailed off for a moment, swallowing as his face twisted in almost feral hate. She felt a wave of pleasure and satisfaction both anew at that.

"And you are stupid enough to admit this."

He seemed to struggle with himself. She was sure that it was all he could do just then not to leap across the table and the room at her. Instead, he worked to still the quavering muscles all over his body.

_Good_! she thought angrily, lifting her chin. It was his turn to suffer.

She wanted him to. She needed him to. So badly.

It wasn't the same, though. It never could be the same. He could never feel the pain that she had felt. He could never relive the horror that she had suffered at his hands. All that he _could_ do was die at her hands. They both shared something then. And she was all too happy for it.

Eventually, he managed to smooth his face.

"Well, my young friend," he continued calmly, the words sliding slowly off his tongue. "You might find _safety_," he spat the word, "within the library … But once you have left … there will be no place to run," he finished quickly, matter-of-factly.

Those two Knights were looking curiously from one to the other, still not certain just what they must have been speaking of but beginning to understand that something more than a simple intrusion was wrong. Brunos too was a little further along. Nimbul and Thaldorn seemed to know all too well.

"My Lady …"

Ajantis' hand was on her arm, fixing it in a grip of iron as he hissed a warning in her ear. But she had the scent now. She could taste his hatred and anger as if it were a living, breathing thing on her tongue. She twisted out of the knight's grip before he could stop her.

"I won't run!" she snapped eagerly at the other, stomping another step forward. "I'll be waiting for you!" Ajantis had her again, holding her back. Nimbul was a breath away from unleashing his hidden hand from that coat. "This isn't over!"

She spat the last at their feet, clawing desperately to free herself from the knight's arms. They snapped around her like a vice.

"That is fine, little ones," Rieltar grated as evenly as he could right back, teeth flashing. "I am sure that we can expect to see you in the future. If not in person, then at least your heads."

"You killed my father! You KILLED GORION!"

Imoen was helping the knight now. She felt fingers in her mouth, but she spat them back out. They had her back at the double doors, but she made a frantic grab for the wood as they started hauling her bodily past.

"THIS ISN'T–!"

Ajantis' hand abruptly clamped down hard over her tongue. The door swung back shut.

She remained there, seething in his grasp for several long moments, glaring at the lacquered wood as if she would blast it to cinders with her eyes. She almost wished that she could.

When she had finally managed to calm down some, he let her go. She rounded hastily back on both.

"Go back to the inn," she ordered as softly as she could. Imoen's eyes flashed wide, and Ajantis' mouth immediately snapped open.

"Are you mad?" he demanded harshly, snatching at both her shoulders and bearing down on her. She had her sense back enough to see the several monks heading quickly in their direction, though. She looked up at him, her eyes hard.

"Do it. Now." She canted her head back toward the stairs. "I'll finish this."

She was already moving as the other tried to argue, his eyes dark and angry. Before he could catch her again, though, she was dashing back toward the stairwell. She reached it just before those monks, flying quickly up and out of sight.

* * *

_Knock. Knock._

Evelyn glanced quickly around. There were very few monks on the upper level, but she still couldn't be sure if those others were still chasing her. The monks did take quite an exception to so much unnecessary noise within the library's walls. She could only hope that she had lost them on the last floor. It hardly mattered if _she _thought it more than necessary.

_Knock, knock, knock_.

She didn't wait any longer before barging in. She had waited long enough for old bones to rise to meet her. And she found them waiting on the other side just a few paces away, buried in a nest of red robes.

"Tethtoril!" she breathed in relief. The old man, she knew quickly enough. The other, still sitting with his curly brown hair and piercing gray eyes, she did not. Those ancient ones widened in surprise at the sight of her standing there.

"Evelyn!" he rasped, frozen where he stood. And then he had closed the space between them swiftly, swallowing her up with his jutting bones in a tight embrace. "We had thought thee _dead_, child!"

She pushed his frail bones away quickly and gently, though, looking him urgently in the eye. "Where is Ulraunt?" she demanded quietly. "I need to speak to him."

He peered at her curiously for a moment, and then he pulled back, sobering. "Whatever would thou wish to see him for, little one?"

She could hear it. She could hear the reprobation in his voice. No matter what might have happened, her brash manners would only have been tolerated so far. She knew that. Unfortunately – for them – she didn't much rightly care just then.

"Gorion's murderers …," she began.

"Yes, child?"

She lowered her voice, leaning in so that that other man could not hear.

"They're here," she told him. "In Candlekeep."

"Here?" The old man's eyes went even wider. "Now?"

She only nodded her head quickly. That seated man's curiosity seemed more than a little piqued. But Tethtoril already had a hand on her shoulder.

"Thou art certain of this, child?"

He had twisted her in close and begun boring into her with his eyes like fierce augers. She bobbed her head again, more weakly this time, but did not relent. His bony hand closed around her like a vice.

"Very well then." He was already guiding her swiftly around and back through the door. "Please excuse us for a moment, good Master Bonaduce." He gestured briefly back to that other before continuing into the hall with her.

Soon enough, Evelyn found herself before another door, Tethtoril leaning forward to rap hard against the wood. Evelyn could just barely hear a voice ordering "come" to them from within before the red-robed monk had opened the door.

Ulraunt was seated there at a desk – it could not have been any other. Only the Keeper of the Tomes was allowed to wear white robes within her old home. Tethtoril held her back with a hand before entering.

The man was busy poring over some thick tome and furiously scribbling notes down on parchment. He did not look up as the door opened. "What is it, First Reader? I am very busy, as you can see."

Tethtoril took a step forward, dragging Evelyn along in his wake. "Gorion's ward hath returned, Keeper," he rasped. "And she brings word of the great sage's murderers."

"I believe the Watchers pronounced it some sort of bandit raid, as I recall, First Reader," Ulraunt answered absently, still absorbed in his work. "It was stated that those responsible would most likely not be found, and 'twould be a waste of the keep's efforts and resources to do so."

"Yes, Keeper. So it was said."

The Keeper's eyes abruptly flashed upwards.

"Step forward, young one."

Evelyn did as she was told, casting only a brief glance back before leaving the red-robed monk behind at the door. She met the white-robed old man's eyes for once in her life without flinching.

"What brings thee here, child of Gorion?" he began, casting all the airs of his office into that brisk, impatient tone at her. "Speak for thyself." But not without an admonishing eye. "I must remind you that thy life here ended with your foster father's death." A quill bobbed towards her briefly. "Do not come here seeking pardon or favors … or to meddle in matters far beyond your realm of proper station. I will not stand for it, and will punish thee accordingly. Thou wilst be as any other Seeker, and no more."

She waited impatiently until he was done, only half listening to whatever it was that he had said. She just waited for that final nod of his head.

"The men who killed him were _not_ just bandits," she started slowly, keeping her voice steady and even, "and they don't need to be found. They're right _here_."

Ulraunt peered at her curiously for a moment. Then he steepled his wrinkled hands between them.

"Explain."

She took a deep breath.

"The Iron Throne," she continued swiftly, "… Rieltar, Brunos, and Thaldorn … They ordered it. They had him killed. _They_ were responsible. And they are right _here_."

She stabbed a finger angrily toward the floor at the last, her voice still low. She kept too much malice from it, but the other still narrowed his cold, calculating eyes even further. He leaned forward, hiding his trimly bearded mouth behind his hands.

"Have thee any proof," he finally spoke, "for this … _accusation_?"

She shook her head.

"I have been following them since Gorion died," she hurried on hastily, however. "They were responsible for the bandit raids. _They_ were the ones behind Nashkel, and the iron, and … and _they_ were the ones who had Gorion _killed_."

"But have thee any _proof_?" The older man only leaned further forward.

She stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, and glaring. But she managed to pull back. She lowered her voice once more.

"Q-question them," she offered quickly. "If you make them tell you the truth … then-then you'll know."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at the steady look he managed for her. But then he abruptly barked a laugh, shaking his head.

"Thou wouldst … _suggest_," he leaned back, "that this place resort to base … _interrogation_ … of honored _guests_ and seekers of knowledge," he waved a hand, "all for the willful and impertinent … _calumny_ … of one little girl?"

"Yes!"

"I think _not_!"

Two hands had crashed down hard atop that desk. After a moment, Ulraunt retracted them slowly, smoothing his face. He steepled his hands anew.

"Thou hath wasted quite _enough_ of the keep's time this day, child of Gorion, with thy _witless_ attempts to sully the contentment of this place." His pale cheeks were flushed beneath the stony wrinkles of his bluff face. "Rieltar Anchev, Brunos Costak, and Thaldorn Tenhevich have made _generous_ contributions to the library in order to conduct their business here. And I will do nothing – _nothing_!" he stabbed her with a sudden flash of his eyes, "to dishonor that selfless gift … without evidence to give me reason."

Evelyn stiffened. And then she narrowed her eyes right back down at the seated monk. The Keeper was still holding her with that barely kept hatred. She could see it in his eyes. She had seen it in his eyes too many times before.

"I had just thought that I would give you the chance to help do what's right. You _could_ …"

She could barely keep her teeth from flashing. There were angry tears swelling in her eyes.

"You do not know the meaning of the _word_, child."

"… But you don't care about Gorion. You don't care about what they did to him!"

"My concerns! This _sanctuary_!"

"… You don't care about any of it!"

"… More important than any one man, _girl_, or murderer. More important than–"

"NO!"

She wasn't sure just when the other had leapt to his feet. She wasn't sure when she had begun stomping her foot violently down into the carpeted floor, shrieking furiously at the top of her lungs. But she was sure when the sound suddenly stopped. She was sure when she blinked away the tears to see the Keeper's grasping hand stretched toward her throat.

For a moment, she stood there, still trying to make sounds though she had already ceased thrashing. It was a Silence spell – no words would come no matter how hard she tried. But his face was a thunderhead, red and splotched white and seething pure hatred and disgust. His hand was extended and clawing as if he meant to throttle her with it from across the room. For a moment, she thought that he would do something more … but that hand slowly clenched into a fist, and retracted.

"First Reader."

For the first time in several minutes, Evelyn remembered that the red-robed monk was still there. The Keeper's eyes tore away and past her.

"If thou wouldst please … escort … this troublesome young girl safely outside the keep." His tone was brisk and clipped once again. Those eyes burned, but refused to return to her. "I believe she has sullied this place with her … puerile, and myopic … fancies, enough. See to it that she does not return."

Evelyn didn't argue anymore. Not that she could, for the moment. Instead she stood there, hand dangling limply and uselessly about her neck, eyes resting numbly on the carpets. When she felt Tethtoril's hand on her arm, she twisted around and pushed quickly past him.

He finally caught up to her at the stairs.

A bony hand alighted gently on her shoulder.

"I am very proud of you, Evelyn," he rasped quietly after a few moments, "as I am sure Gorion is."

She tore her eyes away from glaring at the marble stairwell to him, angry tears spreading on her cheeks. He smiled softly at her, almost as if nothing of those mere minutes before had ever happened. A wrinkled old hand waved in front of her face, and she felt some sound actually return to breath from her lungs. Then he was reaching into his robes.

"Gorion instructed me to keep this for thee," he said, passing her a wrinkled piece of folded parchment, "should he ever meet with an unfortunate end."

She took it from him hesitantly, but then quickly stuffed it away into her coat. He squeezed a gnarled hand into her arm.

"I will do all that I can to see these men brought to justice if what thou sayeth is true," he promised softly. "For thee, and for Gorion."

She managed a weak smile up at him, but she didn't expect much. Still, it was a little heartening. To know that one of them cared enough about her father. He had her wrapped tight in a hug once more.

"Run along, little one," he told her as he let her go, gesturing toward the stairs. He lingered only a moment more. And then he was gone … back to his work.

Her boots trudged hard as Evelyn made her way back down.

There had been little hope of getting the monks to help them. But still … she had. Jaheira had agreed with her on it, preferring that bloodless course. But Evelyn still wanted the satisfaction for herself, and it was probably better that way anyways. Deep down inside, however … she could not help but feel a little bit betrayed. If not for herself, then for Gorion. The Keeper might never have cared for her much, but Gorion had done so _much_ for the library – far more than his murderers downstairs could _ever_ have with one measly entry-gift. The thought started her fuming all over anew.

It was everything she could do to keep her temper in check as she passed the next level, those closed doors at the other end untouched from before. And the feeling had hardly left her by the time she had climbed down to the almost deserted level just below. It was so quiet, and she so preoccupied, she almost didn't see the robed man before she had nearly bowled him over.

"Excuse me," she uttered hastily as she pushed herself aside. Had she been worried about taking him off _his_ feet in her haste … it was unfounded. She felt like she had been struck by a mountain. That robed man hardly seemed to care much for it, though, and she barely got more than a few steps before his deep voice came rumbling after.

"Watch where you are going, girl." His heavy footsteps thudded on without stopping. She made an irritated sound in her throat right back at him.

"You would not want to find yourself _gutted_ … like your father."

Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks. "E-excuse me …?" She twisted slowly back around.

The library was silent.

The other had slowed to a halt, and eventually glanced back over his shoulder. Two dark eyes glinted from beneath that deep cowl.

"Hello …"

His bulky body twisted slowly to meet her.

"… little sister."

She didn't have to see his lips crawling upwards into a cold smile at those words. She could feel it.

The last time she had … had been right before Gorion died.


	66. Chapter 6 Nightmares

_**Nightmares**_

Candlekeep swam into view.

She was passing through the gates of the citadel. As she did, however, there was a flash of memory, and she was suddenly a child of only a few seasons once more. Gorion was at her side, gray-haired even all those years ago. There was a thought, briefly – How old must he have been to age so little in all that time since?

And then it was gone.

As old as her father was, Evelyn still had to run to keep up with his long legs and brisk stride. He was hurrying everywhere – always. She kept getting tired. Good that he kept stopping to talk to strangers, though. She had enough time to rest and catch her breath. Instead of doing that, though, she would idle about, peering at the many pretty flowers and sprouting bushes and hanging trees. She even looked at one of those pretty flowers and it moved. And changed colors! But when she slowly got closer to touch it, Gorion's hand had suddenly clamped down firmly about hers, pulling her away. Whoever he had been talking to last was gone, and they were starting off once more.

They had an important meeting with somebody named Ulraunt. Gorion called him the "Keeper of the _Tomes_" … she had to try not to snicker at it. He would scold her again. But it was a funny name, she thought. She tried to hide her mouth behind her hand as she chugged along at the old man's side.

It was an important meeting about her … but Gorion left her behind once they reached the biggest doors she had ever seen! She tried to keep going after him, but he told her firmly – No! And she was left out on those bright stone steps alone. Gorion had never left her alone before.

She felt scared – a little. But no one was around, and she knew Gorion would never let her get hurt. So she pretended she wasn't, and she started kicking her feet idly about and blowing air out through her teeth. It didn't take her long to get bored, though.

There was a fountain next to the steps. She was waggling a finger slowly across the surface, tracing formless patterns, when the shouting started. The ripples died slowly, winding helplessly away, as she twisted back around toward the door.

Gorion seldom raised his voice, but she could tell his easily then. The doors muffled the sound, though, and she couldn't make out the words. When she turned back to the fountain, something was staring at her.

It was a raven. For a moment, she thought it was trapped under the water, and gasped. But then she realized it was just a reflection. It was staring at her through the water.

It had perched atop a stone wall opposite, feathers the color of her hair and with huge, black eyes. She stared back at those eyes through the mirror of the water, and she suddenly felt afraid once more. She didn't dare meet the bird's gaze any other way. It had claws for feet, she thought suddenly – little skeletal claws.

The doors of the keep behind her abruptly swung open, and Evelyn nearly jumped in surprise. She tore her eyes hastily away, twisting back around to see Ulraunt storming out.

The old man glared at her for a moment, coming quickly to a halt. She knew his stern face then just as well as she would know it for years to come. He looked away as he spoke.

"You both can stay," he seethed out through his hard, flushed cheeks. His eyes were all but afire. "But mark my words," he continued without looking at anyone. "That child will be the death of you."

Ulraunt was gone. His words echoed dully in the suddenly thick air, hanging still for a moment more. And then Gorion walked out of the keep as she knew him now – dead.

Evelyn dropped her gaze back to the water so as not to see. A chill washed down her spine as if she had suddenly plunged herself in all the same, however. The shade faded away.

The raven was gone. But her own image in the water remained. She blinked her eyes. They were black, like those of the bird.

"Like father, like child," she watched the reflection mouth back at her.

It smiled. And she screamed.

* * *

Her eyes snapped open.

Evelyn could feel her heart in her throat as she awoke in the dark. But she kept still. She didn't dare move. All of her walls went up. She could feel it clamoring inside of her for a hold, clawing at those very walls.

Some of them burst apart like tinder.

She swallowed thickly, imagining that thing sliding back down her throat to its lair deep down inside. Her eyes squeezed shut. It didn't want to go back.

"Go away …"

She was shaking her head, hot tears burning at the corners of her eyes. It snarled back at her.

"Leave me _alone_ …"

It fought her. It fought her all the way as she lay there, sobbing and writhing alone in the stillness. Her mouth was gaping, her back arched … she couldn't make any sounds. She couldn't scream for help. No one could help. All she could do … was wait for it to pass.

Her nails dug into her palms until they drew blood.

Eventually, though … it did pass.

And she didn't waste another moment before throwing herself out of bed. The covers weren't so comfortable anymore. She was sweating, but it was not from the heat. The wash basin she found quickly enough, and she dunked her face abruptly within.

"What did you call me?"

Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. She pressed real close to the mirror above her to make sure they weren't black all the same.

Brown. _Dark_ brown. But not black.

There was low laughter all around her in the dark. She tried to blink the painful memory away. She half expected to see those raven's eyes again when she came back.

She could still hear his voice – that slow, lumbering, leisurely rousing-like-a-wolf-for-the-kill voice. It was laughing at her.

"_I should call you many things – coward, weakling, _worm …"

Evelyn shook her head.

"Fleeing _with your tail between your legs from your rightful doom and hiding all this time _…"

She bit her lip hard, drawing blood.

"_You look surprised. You shouldn't be. I told you that I would find you. Did you really think that you would be safe in this place _– anywhere … _from me?_"

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"No …"

He was pacing around her, circling her slowly as a shark, savoring the meal to come. She could almost _feel_ his hot breath on her neck as he passed. She didn't move.

"_And now_ … _it comes full circle, doesn't it? The Iron Throne so close that you can almost touch them … and wreak your revenge for that night_ …"

She was back in the library. That tall, mountain of a man in his loose robes had stopped just to her side and was looking at her expectantly. She could see the dark curve of his lips beneath the cowl.

She swallowed hard … but said nothing.

He laughed quietly once more, and continued pacing.

"Come, little sister," he chided on, that deep voice rumbling with amusement. "I know what is in your heart. You might try to strike _me_," those eyes flashed briefly toward her. They did not glow now, but burned bright and dark just the same. "But you will fail." He looked away. "The head should be your target – the head of the beast, not its claws. It is weak – _they_ are weak …" He stopped. "And just waiting for your murdering hand …" He dipped his head low. "Little sister …"

"S-stop," she had finally managed. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. She didn't dare.

"Stop calling me that."

But he had no such troubles.

Those eyes were boring into her. She could feel them from behind. That trap was supposed to be hers. Why couldn't she _move_ …?

But the ice in her chest told her differently. She was not afraid.

She was terrified.

His breath was on her neck, and it was all she could do not to start shaking where she stood as he closed in on her ear.

"You do not know," he breathed, almost incredulous, "do you?"

She couldn't move. She didn't dare.

"Kn-know," she swallowed thickly, "what?"

But he didn't answer her. The library was deathly still. They were all alone on that floor. His laughter once again broke the silence.

Before she knew it, he was in front of her. His cowl had fallen and he was bearing down on her with his hot black eyes seething in wrath. Her hand was instantly buried under her coat, clawing at Gorion's dagger hidden inside. But her fingers were numb. He caught the motion all the same, and snatched her up by the collar with one, crushing hand.

"Do it," he hissed, grinding his teeth. Their faces were almost touching. "Do it, little sister." Those black eyes were fiercely scorching her own. "I _know_ what is in your heart – that serpent's bile pulsing through your veins. I _murdered_ your precious Gorion. Do it! Strike _me_! If you dare …"

Her feet were barely touching the ground. She could see the corded muscle bulging even through the sleeve of his loose robes. He could have crushed her without a second thought. But her fingers were numb. They wouldn't work.

"DO IT!"

She twisted her face away. There was no hiding her trembling now. She tried to keep her face smooth just the same. Eventually … he just let her go.

Her feet hit the carpeted marble floor hard, but she kept her balance, as precarious then as it was. The other pulled back, laughing.

"You are pathetic, _weak_," he bit the word, "little sister." He spat, "And unworthy of your blood! I would allow you to live," he sneered, "to squander the rest of your pitiful existence in this cowardly, insignificant _thing_ … But you will be a sacrifice. A _blood_ sacrifice to our father. _I_," he stabbed a massive thumb into his heart, "will be the last."

She staggered. The gloom started blinking back into existence around her. The library began to fade. But his voice followed after.

"Before you die, _little_ sister … I will give you a gift. I took your foster father from you. I will allow you the chance to do the same."

That deep voice drew tauntingly close, barely more than a soft rumbling in her ear.

"Rieltar makes his bed at the bunkhouse … But you know the cycles of these monks far better than any other. Go to him," those words bit at her even as they faded. "_Murder_ him in his sleep if you must … like the cowardly wretch that you are. It was _he_ that brought my blade to this place to kill Gorion. The hand might as well have been his! Take your vengeance, little sister, if you dare!"

"_And then come for me. I will send you to our father's grave myself. Enjoy what little time you have left. The next time we meet … you will be dead._"

"_I will be waiting … little sister._"

The mirror before her was cracked – broken. She could just barely make out her eyes in the jagged shards, scattered in a dozen different pieces and blinking back at her in silent judgment. They were red, and blurring with tears. But the fury, and scorn, she could tell, all the same.

It took her a moment to realize that it was her own fist that had broken the mirror. And when she finally did … she slammed both hard into the shards once more. Soon enough, she was pounding the glass, again and again, and again … until her hands were bloody and broken and filled with bits of glass, her voice rising in pitch and fury as she howled and thrashed. She smashed the mirror and she smashed her face … and she smashed everything that she had wanted to do but couldn't – had been too afraid. And when it was all dead and broken and gone forever, scattered about all over the floor around her … she picked up the broken wood backing in her broken, bloody fingers and hurled it across the room with one last shriek. Then she was on the floor, collapsing slowly down to her knees, crying.

Eventually, she lied down, curling up against bits of broken glass and wood. She stayed there for a long time, too tired to get back up.

That voice taunted her all the way along and down. And those eyes just kept on laughing at her long after they should have stopped.

* * *

"Hold still."

Evelyn winced as the other woman snatched firmly at her hands once more. She tried not to watch as the other continued to pluck small, bloody shards of glass from that crimson-stained flesh. It was hard, though. For a while, she just managed to stare down and through that bloody mess.

"Hm," the other grunted after a moment. "They are not broken." She twisted Evelyn's hands gently one way and then the other. "But I should still think that might have taught you a better lesson."

Jaheira sighed as she dunked the younger woman's hands into the wash basin again before muttering something under her breath. Almost at once, her hands began to feel better, and there was only the faint tracing of angry scars where finely sliced bloody lines had once been. She flexed them briefly, thankful only that they still managed to be whole. The druid just shook her head.

"I should hope your friendship with the innkeeper strong enough not to bother him much over it," she said, sighing again as she stood up from the basin before the fire. "A mirror is no inexpensive luxury to replace." Even as she did so, though, a familiar pudgy form was bustling back into view beside her.

"Oh, think nothing of it, lass," Winthrop said quickly as he came up with an armful of fresh towels and gauze. "Think after all ye've been through ya have a right ta more than just a room full o' broken glass."

He paused there, struggling down to one knee, as he took in sight of her freshly healed hands.

"Hrrm," he made a curious sound in his throat, eyes narrowing. "Right then." And then he was twisting about and shuffling back toward the kitchens. She didn't bother to listen to what he grumbled aloud all the way back.

"Where are the others?"

Jaheira glanced back down at her, but she was already climbing up to her feet. It was still early morning, and the common room was blessedly empty. She had not even bothered to stumble out of her room to find the druid, hands dripping thickened blood, until hours after she had collapsed. Thankfully, no one else knew anything of just what she had done.

An arched brow was waiting for her as she came to stand, and a none-to-pleased expression greeted her as well. The other woman already knew well enough just what had happened the day before. Her confrontation with the leaders of the Iron Throne had been bad enough – Jaheira had scolded her fiercely for that as soon as she had come back despite her hasty flight up the stairs to her room and desperate need not to speak to anyone at all. Ajantis and Imoen must have told her. But the rest of it … she had not said anything of that until morning. The other had refused to do anything to treat her until she had finally opened her mouth.

Now, it seemed almost as if the woman would refuse to speak again. Evelyn could hardly blame her, though. She could only imagine what Jaheira must have thought her capable of just then given what she had already done so recently, if nothing else. A frustrated sigh finally decided it, however.

"The Waterdhavian has gone," she shrugged, "I do not know where. The girl too – they are both somewhere about. The Elf is in the library."

"Which?" Evelyn started to ask, but realized she didn't have to and shook her head quickly. Jaheira's lips twitched upwards briefly before she continued.

"The other … I do not know. I have not seen him since the first night." Again, she shrugged. "You know better than I. Khalid is …" she glanced away briefly, "near enough."

"Dynaheir? Minsc?" she pressed, turning away as someone pushed in through the front door of the inn. It was just one of the monks, however. No one she recognized.

"The library as well, of course."

Evelyn nodded her head.

"The Hathran waits to know just what it is that we will do here."

The raven-haired woman glanced back at her briefly, nodding absently once more. She said nothing, though.

"Evelyn."

"What?"

The older woman was still staring at her as she stood there, chewing her bottom lip in thought. The druid folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to one side.

"Just what more _do_ you intend to do here?"

The other stared her down for a moment. For a moment, Evelyn just glared right back. But eventually she squeezed her eyes shut and looked away.

"I don't know."

There was a sudden clamor of metal from the kitchen and Winthrop crying out in surprise before the pudgy man came flying out to meet the monk that was still waiting patiently at the front desk a few moments later. Neither woman paid much heed as he bobbed his head and led the robed man away into the back.

"Perhaps Khalid and I will have a word with this Ulraunt," the druid muttered absently after a moment, looking away after the two men. "Silvanus knows Gorion always spoke of his … frustrations … with the man in his letters."

And then she rounded briskly back on the younger woman.

"Do not lose hope yet, Evelyn," she told her, that tone firm, but suddenly warm. "I said that we would not shed blood within the library. But I said nothing of shedding blood without. As much as I would rather the bloody task upon someone else. I do not think I will trust the Grand Duke too much." She flicked her mane of hair, glancing away. "I cannot imagine him being so displeased with their imprisonment either.

"But, do not worry, Evelyn." She gave the younger woman a small smile. "They must all leave the monastery eventually. For now, we will find out the where and the when."

Evelyn only nodded her head, numbly.

That smile turned heavy on the other's face. Before she knew it, that doting aunt she might have met so long ago in the Friendly Arms cracked through the iron-clad woman before her and Jaheira had abruptly swallowed her up tightly in her arms. For a moment, she was rigid, taken completely by surprise. But only for a moment. Despite everything, she let herself unravel quickly enough. It hurt too much to do otherwise. And she hugged the other fiercely back.

The half-Elven woman squeezed her tight, and then pulled her back to arm's length. She said nothing for a moment, just studied the raven-haired woman's face carefully with the ghost of a smile on her lips. Eventually, it grew whole.

"You have Tethyrian blood in you."

Evelyn blinked. "Wh-what?" And the other only cocked her head slightly to one side.

"Did Gorion never tell you?" She was searching the younger woman's eyes intently. "Just where your mother came from?"

Evelyn blinked up at her again. And then she shook her head.

"No …"

He had never said much of anything about her. At least not to _her_.

"Mmm," she pursed her lips almost coyly, "some might mistake it for Amnish – you have not suffered their harsh sun up here so far to the north, and," she shook her head lightly, "you do not have the tongue … but I knew of that man's little tryst." That coyness bloomed full in her dark lips. "He could not keep her hidden from _me_ – for long."

"You …" Evelyn tried to make her lips move, but the breath caught too quickly in her throat. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "You knew her?" She swallowed. "Knew my mother?"

The door opened again briefly. Evelyn hardly noticed. Another of the robed monks strode through, that one making his way promptly toward the fire on the other side of the room. He sat himself down there and paid the two women no mind.

"No. I did not," the druid said simply, almost hesitantly. "But I knew _of_ her." She cast that apprehension aside quickly with another flick of her dark mane. "A dear friend such as he could not have kept vanishing so without my noticing." She smiled. "And so close to home too." And sighed. "I finally forced him to tell me just who had stolen his heart. Khalid," she abruptly barked a soft laugh, "Khalid suspected nothing, of course."

Her hand had wandered into the pocket inside her coat somehow. Jaheira grew quiet, staring off idly, and Evelyn could feel the letter Tethtoril had given her there. She had not opened it yet. She did not dare just yet.

The druid's eyes suddenly flashed back up at her.

"Her name was Alianna." The older woman gave her a reproving look of a sudden then. "He had better have told you that much at least. A priestess of sorts," she continued more softly. "He said that she would not tell him just of what."

The other mumbled something quietly on to her self, and Evelyn thought she heard something about "mystery cults." But then the woman abruptly stopped. She cleared her throat.

"But he was an old man," she continued with a heavy breath, "even then. And far too old for her, I must think. She passed during the birth, so he said, and recovered you after a task just before leaving us." The older woman shook her head. "Strange that they were so far from Tethyr at the time. I would think …"

But she caught herself, eying the younger woman suddenly. Her lips twisted abruptly into a smile instead, and she seemed to forget it.

"What?" Evelyn eventually asked. But the other only shook her head once more.

"It does not matter." Instead, she reached a hand out to touch the raven-haired woman's face gently.

"He loved you very much," the other told her softly. "No matter what might happen, Evelyn … you must never believe otherwise. I know."

She was quiet. The firmness in her last words hung in the air between them, though. Evelyn knew a warning for what it was. And she was not so simple as to not know just what the other must have thought of her.

It seemed to make a certain sense … in a way. She could easily see it, anyhow. If Gorion had loved her mother … _She_ was _not_ his child. Jaheira had not said it, but it was there in her words nonetheless. Gorion and her mother must have parted … over her. But she had known her foster father well enough. He had taken her when her mother died. He had been guilty – must have been – for letting her bastard child come between them. And somewhere, deep down inside, all of those years … Gorion would have secretly blamed _her_ for her mother's death.

_That_ was what the other did not want her to believe.

She smiled up at the druid.

"I will take Khalid," she uttered after a few more quiet moments, "and see if we might talk some sense into the Keeper of the Tomes. You must remember, Evelyn," she touched a hand to the younger woman's shoulder, "it is no simple thing to conduct all of the affairs of the greatest library in the realm." She gave Evelyn another small, encouraging smile. "I have no doubt it might breed a foul, impatient temperament. Khalid and I will handle the man properly. I promise you."

Evelyn only barely heard her. That monk was still sitting before the fire, reminiscing. She thought he might have been looking at her, though. She could not see his face beneath the cowl to recognize it. But she realized abruptly then that Jaheira was waiting for some sign from her.

She looked up, and gave the half-Elven woman another half-hearted smile in return and a silent nod of her head. The other embraced her quickly before stepping back once again.

"You seem all too ready to forget, Evelyn," the other added lightly, "that you are not the only one here seeking vengeance for the fallen." And then her dark eyes hardened ever so slightly. "Promise me that you will do nothing else foolish … at least not so long as you have Khalid and I here to worry about you."

The woman waited for her to speak. Evelyn nodded her head slowly once more.

"I promise."

"Good." The druid canted her head. "Wait here and try to stay out of trouble until we return." Without another word, the older woman was striding briskly toward the inn's front door.

Evelyn watched as she left, letting her false spirits flee quickly from her face as soon as the woman's back was turned. No matter what the other said, she knew that there would be no success to be had there. She could feel the life of her hope ebbing like a wounded beast. No matter the courage she had shown Rieltar and the others the day before, her enemies were cleverer than she. Her father's murderer yesterday had proven that much. What hope could she possibly have of stopping them outside of Candlekeep?

None. Not enough.

Rieltar was right. Sarevok was right. It was Jaheira who was wrong. It was only a matter of time.

She turned away.

That monk had returned from the kitchens, trailing the pudgy old innkeeper in his wake. Winthrop was fuming along at the man's side, "Now that just can't possibly be right!" He was waving a fist exasperatedly, trudging ahead. "Ye knew well that I'll be needin' twice those provisions to do anything about …"

But the other wasn't listening. Instead, he strode quickly on ahead, leaving the old man behind.

Evelyn frowned as the man seemed to make straight for her. She caught motion out of the corner of her eye – the door slamming open just as Jaheira reached for it. A bulky shape darted inward, forcing her clear out of the way.

Her legs suddenly gave out, and Evelyn cried out sharply in surprise as she toppled to the floor. Before she could even think to do anything else, both her arms were wrenched abruptly up behind her back. There was the hard feel of wood at the back of her skull. She stopped thrashing before she had even begun.

Someone was shouting. Winthrop and Jaheira. Evelyn tried to make her own voice work, but that staff had her jaw squashed up firmly against the floor underneath.

It only took a few moments. Heavy, fretful breathing against wood … wild blood thumping in her skull, and then someone was hauling her roughly back up to her feet. The blocky, stern face of the Gatewarden was waiting up there to meet her.

Evelyn cast her eyes quickly to either side as soon as she could move again. The two monks of earlier had somehow taken her from both sides without her the wiser. Jaheira was standing just beyond the Gatewarden's bulky form, glaring daggers and face nearly boiling over. Winthrop looked wide-eyed and horrified, just a couple paces behind.

"You."

Evelyn snapped immediately back at the grating sound of the broadest man's voice. Her eyes were as wide as Winthrop's and far more horrified.

"What–"

"You will surrender yourself immediately," the man broke in firmly over her. Her thoughts flew desperately to the monk binding her tight, wondering abruptly how much more surrendering she could have done. When she tried to open her mouth once more, however, the Gatewarden cut her off again swiftly.

"No words until yer safe in confinement, lass," he commanded darkly, narrowing those augers beneath blunt brow. "We will not take the chance. This one is too dangerous."

The monk behind her grappled her all the tighter, but Evelyn only went rigid, her mind seeming suddenly to go dull. Jaheira lowered her voice dangerously, though, and saved her the impossible trouble of having to think again just then.

"What is it you think her to have done?" Despite the woman's own words and better senses, her fists clenched as if she meant to bludgeon that man who towered over, twice the size of her. She didn't know what might have happened had she her oaken staff.

The Gatewarden did not face the druid. His eyes stayed firm on Evelyn's own, boring into her as if they might find something there buried beneath the skin. His tongue was slow and ponderous then as he spoke.

"Evelyn, foster child of Gorion Greymantle … you are formally accused of murdering the men Brunos Costak, Thaldorn Tenhevich, and Rieltar Anchev. You will give yourself up _now_ … and be assured of a fair trial."

And then she was gone. What little sanity she might have left to her at that moment was dashed to a thousand pieces and scattered into void. Jaheira's wide eyes turned toward her, disbelieving … and accusing.

"No …"

She tried to open her mouth one last time, enough sense to shake her head fiercely at them all … but the Gatewarden barked a command to one of the monks behind and she could suddenly no longer speak.

"No chances," he growled.

He gestured sharply with a hand. Then canted his head at her. Without another word, they started dragging her out of the inn. She could feel Winthrop's and Jaheira's eyes on her the whole way.

That nightmare, somehow, hadn't ended. No matter how desperately she tried in those first few moments, though … she couldn't wake up.

It wasn't over.


	67. Chapter 6 The Catch

_**The Catch**_

They showed her the bodies.

The blood had barely run cold before the monks had found them. Rieltar Anchev – his bushy beard thick with the coagulating blood ripped free from his eyes and neck – had still had a look of incredulous, raging disbelief painted on his bristling face. Brunos Costak, that towering hulk of broad bulk and muscle, had been cloven nearly in two across where his ribs seemed to be popping right out of his chest, almost as if grasping for their murderer in death. Thaldorn Tenhevich had been rent through the back. Nimbul had merely lost his head.

The Gatewarden had said nothing of the dark-coated man among the dead. None could identify him as they had the others. If his unexplained presence there in the keep seemed at all suspicious to the monks, they said nothing of it. Evelyn had still seen his corpse clutching something inside the coat where it had fallen.

They had forced her to look at them – at all of them. Despite the tears that burned in her eyes, the Gatewarden had roughly forced her not to look away. He had studied her face the whole while. She could only think she might have given herself away just then. Despite the horror of it, despite the rumbling shock that sent her body rigid at the sight of that monstrous, bloody mess – there was some satisfaction in their deaths in that moment. It was hollow, though. That was not her vengeance. It had not been her hand to do it.

But that was not what the monks seemed to think. They were not the only ones to have died that night.

If the leaders of the Iron Throne had deserved death, the two monks that had been murdered just outside their meeting room as well, did not. Whoever had butchered the Iron Throne, they had done the same to two old men unlucky enough to have been in the vicinity of the crime. The Iron Throne and the Knights of the Shield had barely more than finished concluding their negotiations when it seemed to have happened. The Knights might have even been suspected … had it not been for the third monk there in that part of the libraries that night. Somehow, he had survived the attack.

The young man had been senseless and babbling. But he had still had enough wits about him to describe Evelyn down to the finest detail. The woman he described had been wide-eyed and wild, tearing apart each man where he stood simply for happening upon them in the library. The monk had been fortunate enough only to be catapulted aside through a thick shelf of books and buried out of sight. And when they had forced Evelyn before him that morning to be sure, he had nearly swallowed his tongue before they could pull him away and silence his screaming. It had been all she could do not to collapse in on herself in that terrible moment.

There had been the brief thought, at one point then, that she might have actually _done_ those things. She had had another of those strange dreams. When she had awoken, she had barely kept the beast back. If it had already done what it willed, though, if it could somehow have taken her in her sleep without her the wiser … how was she to know? The thought sent everything inside her screaming, paralyzing her with overwhelming fear and horror … but how was she to know? She could have been that terrible monster they thought her. She had been before. She could have done those terrible things. How was she to know?

She thought the Gatewarden must have read those doubts in her face just then.

Now she found herself staring out at her home through dark, cold, and pitiless bars. They mirrored the faces of those she had seen all morning since being taken from the inn. At least two of the Watchers were present just on the other side at all times. Their hard eyes had already convicted her for what everyone knew that she must have done. And, the worst of it … she couldn't tell them that they were wrong. She thought they were – needed them to be so _badly_ … but she didn't know. She briefly wondered how quickly Gorion might have joined them on the other side – had he not already died because of her.

She barked a laugh. If they had known that much, they would have labeled her a murderer and a monster long before. But then it was gone.

Her back was to the room. She remembered once, long ago, coming there to the barracks and doing some chore for Fuller. Now she could only see those dead bodies parading before her eyes a thousand times over without end. She had curled up on her side against the hard bunk pitted in the cell, facing the wall. She didn't want anyone to see her just then. Or ever again.

The steady sound of pacing was hardly distant, though, even with her hands curled up against her ears as best as she could. They were brisk, agitated, and anxious. She could still hear the other woman muttering. She had yet to stop.

The accusation in those eyes, she remembered all too clearly – the utter, agonized disbelief and desperate, doting need not to believe – had hurt Evelyn more than most of anything else that morning. The woman had pleaded with her – reasoned with her – but Evelyn couldn't promise her anything she wanted or needed. As torn as she was between self-loathing and utter revulsion at the possibility at all, she couldn't know. She couldn't be sure. Eventually, the other had just decided for her.

"We will fight this," the druid declared aloud, canting her head firmly in Evelyn's general direction. "It is no coincidence that our enemies are here within this very keep and such a thing has befallen us. I will not allow it. This _lie_ will not stand against Gorion's only child."

But the woman had been unable to even so much as glance her way without those dark eyes filling with fears and doubts. She forgot that it was those very same enemies of theirs that Evelyn had murdered.

"If she g-goes to trial …"

Jaheira stopped dead and looked sharply to Khalid where he sat against the far wall, eying them both. He held her gaze fiercely for a moment, but Evelyn saw nothing of it. His wife finally nodded her head slowly.

"It must not come to that."

Eventually, Jaheira had grown restless – even more so – and too frustrated to remain there, wearing her tread against the floor. She left in a huff, sweeping Khalid up in her wake and vowing to do something about all of it. Khalid had paused long enough to whisper something she took for consoling through the bars. It didn't matter, though. And then they were both gone.

They were hardly the last of her visitors that terrible day.

Hard footsteps thudded in against the crude wooden floor and came quickly to a halt partway in. It was not the guards. They kept to themselves, changing shifts and keeping a wide berth with her cell – the cage of a butchering monster. The most she ever caught was some scornful mutterings about black and unholy murder. There was always just the slightest twinge of fear too. They would not have dared to get too close. No one would.

"Evelyn …?"

There was no fear in that voice then.

When she gave no answer, he should have left. But, instead, the knight only pressed forward.

"I came as soon as I was told," he started quickly, his tongue stuttering. "They say … I was _told_ …"

She could hear his skull shaking, it was so fierce.

"They are mistaken. They do not understand and_ lie_," the curly-haired young man cast a baleful glare toward the Watchers on guard. One of them grunted.

"Evelyn."

Ajantis stepped briskly around her cell, trying to come up alongside to see her face.

"Evelyn," he repeated, his voice dropping to little more than a harsh whisper. "You did not do as they say." He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. And then the next came, barely audible. "Did you?"

She only buried her face deeper, clutching hands and arms tightly about her head. Whatever struggle he had been having redoubled and grew tenfold in the longing silence then. After what seemed like hours, she heard him moving again.

"No," the note beat hard with the cadence of his boots on wood floor. He circled her cage once more. "No. I will not believe it. You are innocent of what they say, my Lady," he grated at her, eyes hard and fierce. "I saw the murder in your eyes yesterday," he shook his head, "but I know you enough not to do any such thing. You are not capable of such a thing."

His words trailed off, and she could almost feel the thought that must have been so suddenly working in his simple head just then. Cloakwood … the mines … Davaeorn, healing Coran … the doubts were there. She knew. She could feel them in the stillness no matter how hard she tried to just will them away. He couldn't have forgotten them. Nothing he said could help.

But he tried anyways. Ajantis continued to ramble on, distraught, as much to convince himself of her innocence as her, she knew. The only problem was that she wasn't convinced, not even close, and he sure as the Hells couldn't have done so. It was quite the opposite. The more and more she thought about it, the longer and longer she listened to him plead and argue and beg it to be otherwise … the more certain she was that he was wrong.

She had done it. She had killed them.

Imoen slipped in at some point. It was the only thing that kept her from leaping to her feet and pleading guilty to the guards right there and then. Instead, she settled back down against the bunk, red eyes glistening fiercely with unshed tears down at the floor below. She did not dare meet the other woman's eyes.

Her best friend stayed with her the longest. At one point, the other even managed to summon the courage to move over to sit next to her cell. Imoen tried to take Evelyn's hand in hers, but the raven-haired woman had only cringed. Imoen, though, had snatched it up anyways, and squeezed tight, telling her very calmly just so that it would all be alright, and that they would get her out of there. Evelyn could not have helped breaking down in tears then. She did not even try to hold back. She wished only so desperately that those bars weren't separating them in that moment.

Ajantis left in a fury, intent upon seeing something done. Dynaheir and Minsc, too, happened upon her later that afternoon. The Hathran offered her concerned sympathies, adding cool conviction to just what Jaheira and the others intended do to. Minsc had been beside himself with rage. She briefly thought he might try storming the place with his bare hands and wrenching the bars asunder to set her free. But Dynaheir kept him under control. She at least knew how fruitless and terrible that would have truly been. The guards themselves had received no view vicious glares.

If Evelyn had thought their resolve meaningful in any way – if she had thought there any hope at all for her in that terrible, lonely place … it was shattered when Ulraunt finally strode through that door into the barracks.

Two withered hands had turned white as they throttled the bars slowly, almost gingerly, and she had seen it in the old man's eyes just how desperately he needed it to be her neck. His voice had been ominously calm, however, and his hollow face a ghostly white.

"So … _Evelyn_," his tongue twisted around her name as if it were something foul, "thou hast sullied thy father's name by defiling his home and bringing ruin to a peace that has lasted for _centuries_ …"

His cheek twitched, and he pulled back. For her part, the mere sight of that man had summoned enough anger and hate within her to stare him down. She might have been a murderer, but at least she had given _him_ the chance to keep any of it from happening. He was as guilty as she.

"From everything that we have seen and found," the Keeper of the Tomes continued, briskly pacing away before rounding back upon her bleary, baleful eyes and blotchy cheeks, "it was not hard to determine just what thy purpose was. Thou hast been trying to place all the present misfortunes of the Sword Coast _squarely_ on the shoulders of the Iron Throne. Militant radicalism," he grated disgustedly at the last, nearly growling.

"I assume thou hath become an assassin in the employ of Amn, of course," he continued swiftly. "Perhaps you were commissioned to sow discord in the region before an Amnish invasion. The deaths of the leaders of a prominent trade association would seem to accomplish just that."

His eyes fixed briefly on Imoen, who had remained silent, but hard-eyed and glaring to one side of the cell.

"It matters little," he concluded slowly. "You will be sent to Baldur's Gate … where an _appropriate_ punishment will be administered."

"Baldur's Gate …" Evelyn breathed suddenly in surprise. The moment she opened her mouth, though, Ulraunt had all but charged the bars.

"Do not think me so foolish!" he seethed softly, holding her tight for a moment in his wide-eyed, piercing gaze. "I knew thee well as a doom that first day I laid eyes on thy demon-flesh at Gorion's side. But even _that_ butcher's work took more than thee." His eyes flashed briefly toward the pink-haired woman who could not hear those words once more. "Thou art alone, child of doom," he growled softly. "But not for long."

And then the man was gone. Evelyn had only glared after him for a moment, willing all that sudden, violent fury to have butchered _him_ instead. She collapsed back in on herself quickly, though, all heat flying out of her. And she was suddenly despairing even more fiercely that before. When Imoen tried to console her, she stiffened.

Her best friend hardly wanted to leave. But Evelyn ordered her with every ounce of sanity and control she had left to do just that. The other eventually gave in.

Whatever she had done … whatever they _thought_ her capable of having done … the others would have no part of it. They had _had_ no part in it. It was her burden to bear – her terrible doom to suffer. _Hers_ and no one else's.

Imoen did not come back.

For a time, she was alone then. She never saw Kivan, though she thought she must have felt his eyes at some point when the door opened to allow more guards to replace the old ones. They didn't speak to her any more than any of the others, but they seemed much less fearful than agitated now. Whatever was going on outside in the rest of the keep, they seemed not to think her the _only _threat anymore – safely behind bars. And _that_ … started to frighten her more than anything.

But she knew better. It was the most terrible thing. She _knew_. If she had done that bloody murder … it would have been just her. It could have _easily_ been just her.

She didn't remember, though. She couldn't know.

She couldn't know.

* * *

It was already dark out when her last visitor came. Evelyn was picking at the flannel of her lavender coat, eyes wandering to where Gorion's letter was tucked safely away inside. The fine cut of the thing – once resplendent and fine – was now crumpled and dirtied from overuse. She couldn't remember how many times she had been too tired or frustrated or angry or fretful to bother taking it off before falling asleep. She had gone to bed in it that night. They had stripped her of the dagger. But she still had that other small piece of Gorion. It was a small comfort, at least.

And that was where the Elf found her, seated worriedly atop her unrelenting bunk. He was the only one who had yet to come witness her misery. And he was the only one to have come in so long a while. Not one of the others had come back.

"Xan!"

She was on her feet in an instant and pressed up against the bars. The Elven man took a step backward in surprise at that sudden excitement. One look to the guards idly dicing on the other side of the room reined her back in swiftly. She lowered her voice.

"Where are the others? What's going on? Are you alright?"

The words came spilling fretfully off her tongue, each passing hour with no sign of her friends leaving her to horrible waking nightmares of them being captured or killed. All because of her. All out of suspicion for those crimes.

The Elf gave a furtive glance toward the Watchers as well before stepping closer to finally speak. His face seemed unnaturally grim.

"Hello, Evelyn," he said simply, almost indifferently. For a few moments, his attention seemed to wander to the bars separating them and she was left with her mounting fears boiling up behind anxious eyes inside her head. When the other did not continue, she eventually broke in.

"Xan, what is–?"

"You have found yourself a cage of your own, I see."

His words were hardly loud or forceful enough to cut in on her own, but she swallowed them all the same, anxious for an answer – any answer. That one seemed to cut her in a way she did not understand, though. It was not the right one, however, and he did not bother to continue once more. She hurried on, even more worried than before.

"Where is everyone, Xan? Are they alright?"

As irritating as it was for him to keep her in doubt for that long as it was, she was all but pleading. She needed to know. She needed to know that they were alright.

But those brown eyes snapped suddenly back on hers.

"And why would they not be?"

She opened her mouth, and he studied her intently for a moment. She snapped it back shut, swallowed, and then tried again.

"The monks might think they had something to do with it."

She didn't have to say just what _it_ was. She didn't want to. But the other just fixed her anew.

"And just why would they think that, Evelyn?"

She glanced back up at him. He was peeling her apart with his eyes, hard and grim. She nearly choked.

"… Because they don't think me capable of it … alone …"

"But you believe otherwise."

She met his eyes briefly once more. Painfully. And then she looked quickly away. She edged back from the bars, letting them go. She nodded her head slowly.

"I don't want them hurt," was all she could manage, weakly, "because of … because of _me_."

"Because of what you did."

She could not help looking sharply back at him then. His face was still grim – impassive, and grim. She didn't answer him, though. She couldn't. She let her eyes fall, shaking her head slowly.

The quiet murmurings of the guards were all that filled the silence for a time. Their eyes darted back and forth no few times between her and the Elf. She turned away slightly more so that she could not see him unless she wanted to. She opened her mouth twice to speak, but nothing came out. She could have even thought him gone, he was so quiet and still.

But he wasn't. He just stood there, staring at her silently through the bars. She suffered two more furtive glances.

"What are you thinking, Xan?" she finally managed, sounding more miserable and pitiful than she had hoped. For long moments, he did not answer. Then his melodic voice came soft and low.

"You forget how much more I know of the doom you carry inside of you, Evelyn."

It wasn't an answer. Not the one she wanted anyway. The one she _needed_. She started shaking her head. A hand had already reached up to swipe at the tears forming there in her eyes. They were hardly the first, and something told her they would not be the last before it was done.

Something snagged at her coat. She twisted around, unable to stifle a sob in surprise. The Elf was holding the lavender up between his fingers.

"You are remarkably clean for one who has done such bloody work."

Her mouth twisted in disgust as she managed to glare at him through blurring eyes. It wasn't a joke. It wasn't a joke!

But the Elf only glanced up at her, still musing over her coat.

His face hardened at that look upon hers.

"I have studied the mess in the library," he told her as if it should have meant something. "As long as they would allow it, which was not long." She had already heard enough of the truth of it in his words. He thought her no less a murderer than everyone else – perhaps more. She wished he had never seen her that day with Coran. Could a monster have saved his life, though? Could it?

It had.

She turned away, and trudged back to the bunk. She let herself collapse back down atop it, not bothering to fight back her tears, only trying to keep them quiet. She didn't want him to see them. She didn't want the guards to see them. She only wished she could crawl away somewhere where no one could come and point anymore of those fingers at her – where she couldn't hurt anyone anymore.

If they were going to kill her, they should have just been done with it.

Xan was silent again for a time. She forgot that he was even there. And then he said something quietly before leaving. She didn't bother to listen.

She looked up after he was gone. One of the Watchers was staring at her. Her eyes fell quickly enough.

She couldn't blame them for hating her.

She had been the first.

* * *

Evelyn grunted, and groaned. She squeezed taut muscles tight, her eyes flashing briefly open before clenching shut. Her fingers clawed at the bunk beneath, her head nuzzling hard into its surface. Her eyes were suddenly wide. She was awake.

Hands to the wood, Eve forced herself up instantly and away. The barracks were deathly quiet. She couldn't remember falling asleep. She couldn't even remember lying down.

Her eyes flashed toward the room. It was still. The door was ajar. It was still dark outside.

The Watchers were nowhere in sight.

Something was wrong. She could feel it as her heart leapt into her throat and started thumping in her ears. She froze suddenly there were she hung over the bunk, eyes darting about the dim room.

The Watchers should have been there. Where were they? More should have been sleeping at that hour at _least_. How long had she been sleeping? Cold air was sifting in, nudging the door to creak loudly in the gloom. How in the _Hells_ had she fallen asleep?

Her cell door was unlocked. She could see the rent piece of metal lying on the floor. She climbed slowly to her feet.

Why was her staff never there when she needed it?

Numb fingers pushed against iron. The door moved slowly outward, creaking softly. The barracks door grated on like an echo.

Nothing moved in the dark.

She was taking slow steps out into the room, casting about for any sign of movement and a weapon both. There was nothing in sight. But she knew there must have been some blades hidden in the Watchers' chest at least. A sword, staff, dagger, knife – _anything_.

She caught sight of Hull's.

There was something at the door.

Evelyn didn't even waste a moment before flying at it, shoulder bared. Before that dark shape could make its move, she had crashed hard into the wood, slamming that thing back over and away with a grunt. Her hands were fumbling down with the latch almost instantly.

She had it. She was sliding the bolt into place. But then, suddenly … she wasn't. She was lying on her back several feet back, ears ringing.

The door slammed back on its hinges, clattering vengefully there even before her skull started throbbing where it had struck her on the forehead. She scrambled back up to her feet as quickly as she could. But it was too late.

That thing had her in its iron grip before she could even blink.

The heel of her hand to its face was just as swift.

And so was it twisting away just out of reach.

"Child! CHILD!"

She hadn't even paused before sending her other arm around sweeping towards its skull. But that raised, rasping voice brought her up short almost instantly. She suddenly recognized those crimson robes in the gloom.

Her hands fell away uselessly.

"Teth … Tethtoril?"

"_Hello_, young one."

She could just make out that wrinkled old face crinkling kindly, but exasperatedly, down at her.

"What … what are you doing here?"

The monk stayed her easily back on her feet despite his frail form. "I know thee well enough to know that thou hast been falsely accused. 'Tis a favor to Gorion's memory that I will help thee escape!"

"Escape …?"

Her eyes darted around in bewilderment, all of her panic and terror of moments before bleeding away to confusion instead. She looked back up at him.

"Where are the Watchers?"

"Safely managed, child, I assure thee," the old man said swiftly. "The Sleep spell worked as well as intended. Needless to say, they would have objected to thy escape."

But she just shook her head, still not understanding. "How?" she asked. "Why?"

"I have told you, child." The other took her firmly in his grasp almost as if to shake some sense into her. "Tomorrow Ulraunt will most likely sentence thee to be sent to Baldur's Gate. There, thou wouldst receive the death penalty for these actions. I know Gorion would not want to see his only child killed a scant few weeks after his own death. Now, come!" He was tugging her forcefully toward the door.

But she pulled up short.

"What about the others?" she pleaded, still disbelieving. "What about my friends? If they find me gone …"

The old man didn't even lose a stride.

"They will be well. They have been taken care of. All has been taken care of," he rasped back hurriedly to her over his shoulder. Evelyn hardly knew what to make of that, but it wasn't as if she had much choice either. Those withered old bones were like iron, and forcing her swiftly along behind.

"Where are we going?" she managed to ask as they plunged out into the Candlekeep night. She had the sudden fear that someone might see them, fleeing into the dark, and recognize her. But the immediate grounds, for the moment at least, were bare. And Tethtoril didn't bother to answer her. It didn't take him long before he had pulled her a short distance away to one of the small storehouses nearby.

"In here, child," he rasped, pulling the door aside and pushing her inside. "Quickly!"

It was suddenly bright in that room stuffed full with barrels and crates all around her. A freshly lit torch crackled in a small sconce to one side. The old monk dead-bolted the door behind them and snatched the beacon free.

"Come." He led her over swiftly to one side of the room. There he pushed aside a few of the crates. What seemed to be a hatch appeared against the floor in the gloom. The old man pulled it open, and a dark hole gaped wide there in the wood.

"In with you, child," Tethtoril beckoned with a hand. "Go!" He forced the torch into hers.

"What," she stammered as she dipped in close to get a better view of the hole, "what is it?"

She could see dusty earth a short leap below. What almost looked like a carved tunnel sprawled away beneath.

"This will lead thee to the catacombs, Evelyn," the old man explained quickly. "From here thou art on thine own."

"What?"

She gave him a wide-eyed look of horror, but he had already all but started stuffing her down the hole. Torch in hand, she hung herself over the edge.

"Be careful, child," the old monk warned, "and do not stray from the path into the tombs."

He gave her one last encouraging nudge before she was landing haphazardly on her feet down hard on the earth below. The torch clattered away, spraying sparks, but she snatched it up quickly and leapt back to her feet.

"Wait!" she called back up desperately. The monk barely paused. "What about my friends?"

"Thou wilt see them all again soon enough." He smiled comfortingly down at her. "Make thy way quickly through the catacombs, child, but disturb them not! However dangerous they might be, they are a safer alternative to Ulraunt's wrath."

He had the hatch back in his hands and was closing it swiftly. For her part, Evelyn felt like her head had finally caught up.

"Tethtoril?" she called back up before he had gone.

"Yes, child."

"Thank you," she said simply. "For everything."

The man only smiled right back.

"Of course, child."

The hatch shut. He was gone.

And Evelyn was left alone in that dark tunnel with nothing more than the torch.

Eventually … she started forward.

The old man stopped where he stood.

Both eyes slowly lowered to the ground. He reached out a slippered foot into the gloom, tapping something hard there in the stillness. It was a boot.

Both eyes tracked upward, tracing the fallen form of a man there in the dark. A Watcher.

The old man did not need to see any nearer to know that the man was not sleeping. He was dead.

The crimson-robed monk straightened. He could already feel movement there in the dark behind. He did not turn, merely stiffened, keeping his back to the other.

There was already death in the air that night. He could taste it all too well.

"It is done."

The towering form behind the old man in the storehouse was smiling that cruel smile of his, he knew. The other had not bothered to ask. He had no need to. The robed man only nodded his head.

"See that it is finished then."

He could hear the other turn to leave.

"Why so much trouble?" the old man rasped back over his shoulder. "Why so much for one, little girl? What makes her so … special?"

That deep rumbling laugh came slowly and mercilessly. The monk still had his back to it.

"She is kin," he said simply, as if that should have explained it. The old man barked a laugh.

"If you meant to kill her," he pressed, "why not have done with it already?"

The other only laughed once more.

"I did not think you would object."

The monk finally turned. He could just make out the other's powerful form draped there in stout robes in the shadows. Those eyes glowed briefly.

A small smile crept over the old man's wizened face.

"You forget," that deep voice spoke softly after a time. That cruel smile was back on his dark lips, and his eyes flashed briefly once more. "I have been here before."

He turned, unlatched the door, and left. The old man watched him go. Then, without another word, he crossed swiftly to the hatch on the floor through which the girl had gone. He threw it open, and slipped down into the dark.

It had been far too long since those dusty tombs had seen fresh blood. Far too long.


	68. Chapter 6 Prophecy

_**Prophecy**_

Stone crunched underfoot.

Evelyn stilled instantly, catching her breath. She listened as hard as she could, but there was nothing – nothing beyond the dull roar of the torch flame against stale air. It was as useless as it had been every time before. There should have been nothing down there.

Should have been.

The torch swept before her once more. It tracked a pitifully short ways ahead. She tried not to think about how little time she would have had before the ground fell away beneath her into the dark. She tried not to think much at all. It had long since begun to hurt too much. Too many doubts, too much blood.

She just tried to listen.

The tunnel had grown wide as she moved further and further away from the secret entrance in the storehouse. She thought those cracked stone floors should have been dustier, but Tethtoril had called them the catacombs. The monks would have known about them. Their dead were entombed here. Someone had to have taken care of them. And she could almost have hoped to find one of them down there. As soon as that thought entered her head, however, she dashed it hastily. Whether it was a Watcher hounding her escape or not, her blood still ran cold at the thought of someone – anyone – else being down there with her. She started hearing things.

The tunnel walls to either side of her abruptly fell away into dark, and a black chasm of night opened up ahead. The floor continued. The air was still, dark, and cold. Her breath was misting ahead of her.

There was a sound. Her breath caught instantly in her throat, and she listened. It was vague, endless and everywhere all at once, just beyond reach and almost not there at all. The stone itself seemed to be speaking, murmuring deeply beneath her. Eventually, it stopped.

It took her too long to realize that the open space before her was a chamber. And when she finally did, it was only to find three more tunnels sprawling out to each side. Cobwebs draped the corners of one, the other two empty, and gazing silently back at her with dark maws.

She passed slowly by them with the torch, desperate to know just what was down each. Tethtoril had warned her not to stray from the main path, that the catacombs were dangerous. But which? She hardly dared wonder just what dangers he meant could be down there.

That groaning was back again. She gasped as it crept up on her once more, the torch wavering. It was that that decided her. Somehow, too, she didn't think the cobweb strewn path was the right one.

She turned east.

The tunnel broadened even more. Several times she felt the air flow change ever so slightly to either side. She knew there must have been other passages there, or even tombs. She tried not to think about it, keeping her eyes fixed ahead and her footsteps as quiet and quick and steady as she could. It only managed so well. She kept waiting for something else to stir in that stillness, some sign of Tethtoril's 'dangers' in that interminable dark. She began hating her eyes. She would have closed them, squeezed them shut and forced all of it away … were it not for the thought that there must be something waiting for her if she did and ever opened them again.

Something began to stir deep down inside of her. It smelled that fear … and weakness. It wanted out. She just tried to squash it as quickly as she could.

The torch suddenly sputtered.

Evelyn slowed, looking sharply toward where she had felt the air move. Another of those dark openings was silhouetted there in the dark. She couldn't have known if it was a passage or a tomb, but it hardly mattered. It couldn't have been the main path.

Something echoed somewhere deep in the endless tunnels behind. For a moment, it almost seemed as if it might have been following her, but it bounced off those walls too much for her to know. And she didn't care to wait around long enough to find out if it really was.

Metal clattered in that opening to the side. Her breath caught for a moment as she skipped a step back. Her hand was at her belt, clutching frantically, before the sudden thought broke through that her weapons were still gone. She held the torch in front of her like a talisman, backing up quickly and away, but nothing came. In the next moment, she was twisting about and hurrying on.

Torch bobbing as she jogged ahead, she let herself breathe again. She could barely see anything before her before it flew underfoot.

Something brushed her arm. Her head whipped instantly about as it passed.

Then something abruptly took both legs out from under her.

She tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat. The torch went flying ahead, bounding along the stone and dwindling into the dark. It spun around and away from her. Only a faint glow ahead showed her where it was.

The trail of embers like breadcrumbs died quickly enough. All at once the dark had swallowed her whole, and she was kicking wildly at shadows as they flitted wickedly around. They were upon her just as quickly, clawing at her skin with icy hands.

Her fingers struck something on the grounds. She snatched it up without thinking, flinging wildly at those things around with a shriek.

It was a rock. She thought. It hurtled away into the gloom, striking hard on the tunnel wall somewhere behind and clattering into the distance. She fumbled down in the dark for another one instantly.

There was a brief pause. Her breath was the only sound in the black as the first stone skittered far away. Nothing moved. She couldn't see anything any way she turned.

Evelyn threw herself over onto her elbows, half crouching, half stumbling ahead toward that only beacon of hope in the darkness. Horrible flashes of a place just as dark and fill with terrible creatures scoured her mind as her free hand clawed for great spans of stone.

Where was it?!

There.

She snatched at the glimmer. All at once, it exploded into a circle of dim light around her. There was nothing else there. She sucked in ragged breaths. There was nothing there. She didn't _see_ anything.

There was nothing there.

Nothing moved. She had imagined it. She _had_.

Eventually, she got back up to her feet.

The torchlight faltered. The fall had cast too much pitch to the ground. She couldn't waste anymore time.

There was someone in front of her.

For a moment, she didn't even notice. For a moment, Evelyn continued on. She realized only too late that that dark shape did not fly away with the nearing light. Instead, the light danced closer. There was a glint of eyes ahead in the dark. They lifted up slowly to meet hers.

Evelyn came up short.

They stared at each other in silence. Those black orbs did not move. She could have almost thought that she was just imagining it again. But she could feel them digging deep into her skin.

She started to shake.

"He–"

Her voice caught in her throat. Only a hoarse squeak came out. At the sound of it, those eyes suddenly blinked.

The thing didn't move, but the torchlight sparked, and Evelyn saw a face. She stiffened … and blinked right back.

"Ph … Phlydia?"

The older woman stood still as stone. Her chest did not even so much as move. Evelyn might have thought her dead. Except those eyes were very much alive.

"Are you," Evelyn squeaked once more, and swallowed. "Are you real?" The last time she had seen the woman had been just before Gorion had died. Now she was staring her in the face somewhere in the darkest pit of her old home.

Those lips just cracked into a smile.

Evelyn tried as hard as she could to steady her shallow, ragged breathing.

"What are you doing here?"

For a moment, no sound came. The other stood there like a statue, not moving, not breathing – barely alive.

"Are you alright?" Evelyn tried to take a step forward. Her feet refused to move. She took a deep, trembling breath instead.

"My book."

Evelyn blinked rapidly. Her chest was still rising and falling too quickly. The other's face was frozen in that same expression, grinning at her like some fool.

"Wh-what?"

"My book," the woman repeated. She took a step forward, coming fully into the light.

"My book." Her face suddenly twisted into a snarl. "You _stole_ my BOOK!"

All at once the woman was on top of her, flying off her feet and hurtling toward Evelyn all tooth and claw and nail. Those hands closed in on her throat.

Evelyn's hand moved without thinking. Before the other could reach her, she had struck her hard across the skull. Phlydia tumbled over and aside and down. She struck stone, and did not move.

Evelyn looked down to her hand. She had forgotten the rock. It was stained with blood.

"Ph-Phlydia?"

There was no answer. The woman did not move.

Her lip trembling, Evelyn couldn't form another word. Then something sounded in the tunnel behind her.

The dying torch came whipping about in a sudden frenzy. She was gasping as she thrust it first one way and then the other. But there was nothing there. Finally, she spun back around.

Phlydia was gone.

The blood was thumping in her ears. Her head felt like it would burst. She needed to get out. The rock tumbled free from her hand, still smattered with blood. It clattered loudly to the cracked stone floor. She had to get out.

She started stumbling backwards. She went down, but was just as quickly back up, not daring to look away from where the other woman's body had been. Then she was scrambling frantically back up to her feet.

She ran.

The tunnels flew around her. She barely paid any heed to just where her feet fell as they charged headlong into the dark. Her breath pounded in her head in tandem. The light bobbed wildly. Tombs gaped their shadowy maws wide as she passed.

The tunnel ended.

She was stumbling out into a vast chamber before she knew it, coming up slowly to a halt as the torchlight faded into swirling gloom. Tears were in her eyes, blurring the already bleak world ahead into a shadowy wasteland. Her breath was erratic, all but screaming in the stillness.

Shadows flitted past. She twisted this way and that, unable to see any of it. There could have been footsteps. She didn't know. She thought faces peered out at her from the blackness. They were accusing her … accusing her of that bloody death.

The monks. The leaders of the Iron Throne. Now Phlydia.

She collapsed down to her knees. The torch splattered embers across the stone. She could just make out arches dipping low into sight above her. She started sobbing uncontrollably.

"Dead," she growled. "Dead, dead, DEAD!"

She was crying, almost hysterically. Both fists slammed hard into the stone beneath as she screamed.

Something moved.

Her eyes flashed upwards. She blinked away tears. Even through them, she could see the shadows shifting.

The torch was back in hand, dying. After a moment, another face pressed into view.

Hull.

Evelyn straightened.

"Are you here for me?" she managed.

His face was chiseled from stone. He stepped forward.

She laughed, pressing her face to the floor. "You're too late." She shook her head. "You're too late. I already killed her."

Cold footsteps closed in on her, stopping at her head. She stayed down. Waiting.

Fingers found her neck. All at once, she was back on her feet, hauled up by a grip of iron. They twisted around once they had her there quickly enough. Hull's face swam back into view as his hand closed around her throat.

"Stole Hull's special elixir, did you?" Her thoughts fired every which way at once, eyes wide and rolling back into her head. The Watcher bore down on her, face twisted and livid. "And fed it to the _cows_, no less!" he hissed on, tightening his grip. "You'll _rue_ the day you even _met_ me …!"

She was hurtling through the air. Her back struck stone, forcing what little air remained in her lungs swiftly out. Then she was stumbling down to the ground, coughing.

Another set of hands was on her, picking her right back up.

This time, it was Dreppin.

"Poisoned Arabelle, have you?" He had her up, dangling off her by feet by the front of her coat. "Murdering cows, were you?"

She clutched at his hands, head lolling. They were cold as ice.

"RraaAAGGGHH!"

She was flying free once more.

"FLESHLING!"

She hit the ground on her side, slipping and scraping ahead across the cracked stone. Her body twisted over as she hit some rubble. It came to rest on her back.

She blinked up into the dark, choking.

Someone bent close.

"Parda …"

Her voice was barely more than a rasp.

The monk smiled down at her.

"Seek my comfort, will you?"

She tried to nod her head. But her muscles only twinged uselessly in response.

"Aye," the monk reached for her, helping her up. "I'll show you a sweet and silent comfort if ye'll let me." That comforting smile never left his face, even as one arm reeled back like a club.

"Wasteling."

Pain flashed across her chest. Before she knew it, she was sprawled out on the ground on her back again several feet back and choking on blood and bile. She didn't have the slightest idea how she had gotten there. But she knew that it was where she was meant to be.

She felt something twinge deep down inside.

Nothing stirred in the blackness. It was silent. After a time, her breathing slowed.

Evelyn pushed herself up and around. Her thoughts began to settle. Even as they tried to fly in a thousand directions at once, something reined them in.

There was a light glimmering in the distance. She swiped an arm at the blood spilling from her mouth. Without thinking, she started pulling herself toward that light. No more faces pushed in out of darkness. They were gone as if they had never been.

Her body still throbbed all over, painfully.

She was back at the arches. Her hand fell clumsily on the torch.

Still, nothing moved.

She was back on her feet. She limped a couple steps ahead until the pain in her leg was gone. The arches passed overhead, and she moved up onto an ancient dais of stone. The torch sputtered.

When it came back … Jondalar was standing there.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

The other barely wasted a moment.

"Thought you could take me on?" the stout man demanded, snarling. He clenched both fists. "Well try me now … _meat_ … and we'll see who comes out the better!"

He charged her. His bulky form swept toward her on swift feet gracefully … soundlessly. He leapt up, bare fists for her soft flesh. His face was frozen in stone. Feral, murderous stone.

Evelyn twisted away. She spun sluggishly around and he slipped past. Her leg managed to sweep both his out from under him. His stout shape was swallowed into dark.

A hand was snatching at her shoulder before the other had vanished. Her boot cocked up haphazardly from behind and struck flesh. Fuller stumbled away into the black, even as she coughed up more blood.

They were all around her then, fists and limbs swinging and clawing and flashing at her from every side. Every face was one she had known since she was a child – every last one of them coming at her then to tear out her eyes, smash her bones, and break her. Each of them swung for blood.

She could see it in their cold, dead eyes. She was a monster. She was the monster that they were to kill

Something inside of her then just didn't seem to care.

Parda came at her. She slammed the heel of her palm into his face. Karan too. She forced a knee into his withered old stomach, bashing him over the skull once … twice, before he tumbled away. Hull came barreling out of the gloom to force her hard back into a pillar of stone. She cracked the torch over his head, showering him with embers and sparks. A boot swept his hard face aside and away.

She staggered forward and suddenly a short, stocky form was there, beard bristling and powerful fists clenched.

"Spy!" Reevor barked. "Traitor!" He started towards her. "Fight for the rats, will ye? Fickle as the wind, ye are, fickle as the wind!" He started picking up speed. "We have a name fer yer type – Ratbastards, it is. Aye, Rat_bastards_!" That one eye was squinting. "And I've never known one I didn't hang with my own two hands! RAUUGH!"

Her elbow took the little dwarf in the nose. She twisted aside, throwing her weight as hard as she could. His stocky form flung away with all the others.

Fuller came back. She even saw Phlydia again. Another fist, this one shattering her nose up into her skull, and she could not have gotten up. Jondalar struck her hard from behind, and she snapped his neck around her boot struck him so hard. She thought she even saw Yeslick just over Dreppin's shoulder as she hammered him heard in the heart and over. If she had not been the one to strike the final blow that night atop the building of the Iron Throne, she was this night. Or maybe it was Reevor again.

She couldn't know. They had all begun to blur in her eyes so long ago.

And then one of those faces was suddenly different.

Evelyn stumbled a halting step forward, her legs numb. That pudgy form just stood there. Its lips started to move. She couldn't hear what they said the pounding in her head was so loud.

"Winthrop …" she mouthed, still staggering forward. The other was not afraid. He did not back away. His eyes were wide and his teeth bared. She had already murdered everyone she knew and loved right in front of his eyes. He stabbed a finger at her. He was shouting, hissing, and cursing. His fat face was red and livid. She just kept on towards him.

"No …"

As she neared, a fist slammed hard into the side of her face. She let it, crashing down to her knees. Blood dripped down to the stone. She caught some in her hand.

Then she was being pulled up.

"Come here, my pretty!" he snarled wildly at her, cheeks trembling. "Yer ol' pal Winthrop'll change your mind!" He was reeling back.

Her fist took him in the face. Then again. And again. She was screaming before it was done, howling aloud into the dark as she hammered that flabby face to pulp.

When he finally fell, she started kicking. And she did not stop until there was nothing left to get back up.

The chamber fell still but for her. She stumbled over Winthrop's fat corpse and toward where the torch had fallen. She snatched the smoldering embers up in one hand, letting it just dangle there uselessly at her side. She growled pitifully as she staggered on.

Stairs climbed ahead of her. She pitched forward against them in the blackness. Fingers clawing numbly at stone, she pulled herself up, inch by bloody inch. Her hand left a trail of blood. When she reached the top, she threw herself forward with a desperate grunt.

She lay there for a moment, laughing, crying, and choking all at once. Faces flashed in her head. It was too much. She forced herself back to her knees, tears blinding her eyes. She couldn't see. The torch scraped along loudly against stone at her side.

Light bloomed in the passage ahead.

For a moment, she was blind. Tears and blood streaming down her cheeks, she stretched a hand forward, half reaching toward and half blocking that brilliant light. She pitched ahead and started crawling after it.

"Evelyn."

The voice came to her from a distance, drifting – parting the dank air. She stopped, unable to pull herself along any farther. Her fingers still clawed at the stone against her will.

"Evelyn."

Someone was standing over her. She tried to look up, but there was only shadow surrounded by light. The dark form bent slowly over.

A hand started stroking her hair gently.

"Oh, my child … I am so glad I have found you."

It was like a dream.

Evelyn looked into that face, that kind, warm, and gentle face. So unlike the other ghosts she had already seen and killed. It wasn't real. It _couldn't_ have been real. But those strong hands were helping her up.

"No," she squeaked. "Not this. Not this."

She kept mumbling as he helped her gingerly to her feet. "Hush, child," he breathed. "It is alright. It's alright now."

"No. No. No."

"You are with me now, Evelyn. Hush," that phantasm continued to soothe. "It's alright."

"No …"

"It's alright, Evelyn. Everything is alright. I will take care of you now, Evelyn."

"NO!!"

She forced the face of her foster father away with a hand. The old man stumbled back, face going slack and eyes wide with shock. Evelyn just tried to keep herself up.

"You're dead!" she hissed at him, sucking in a breath. "Don't … _please_ don't. I … I WON'T KILL YOU AGAIN!"

"EVELYN!!!"

She started in surprise. That source of the light suddenly stepped forward – an old man with a trailing white beard holding a bright burning lantern in his hands. It could not have taken her long to recognize that face. It had hounded her ever since her father had died.

"Stop this madness, child, I beg of thee!" Elminster's warm voice howled at her in warning. "Thou hast already soaked these halls with the blood of innocents and I cannot permit it to go further!"

She thrust a feeble hand out at him, baring her teeth. "Stay _back_! You … stay where you are! This is … this is all YOUR FAULT!"

"My child …"

"NO!" she screamed at her father. "I am _not_ your child! You're dead. You're DEAD!" She stumbled. "You're … you're not here. _Not_ here. Not you!"

But Gorion did not look dead. He just looked tired.

"You are dreaming, child. This is an illusion. All of it has been. You know not of what you speak."

She fell down to her knees, bobbing her head feebly and shaking it too. She briefly wondered just what that scene might have looked like should anyone have been there to see it. She was barking at ghosts in the dark. She wondered if that meant that they were all already dead. She already knew at least a few of them were. She barked a laugh.

"I've killed them. I've killed them all." She blinked up at those two through tears. "I'm going to kill you too."

She caught her foster father's eyes. For a moment, there was a flicker of fear. She blinked in surprise, but it was gone just as quickly.

Tethtoril stepped into view.

"Please, child!" Elminster was pleading with her. "Sheathe those weapons and sheathe thy madness, too!" Come with us, and we shall see thee, at last, to safety!"

She only glanced down at her hands, and then she pushed them up so that they could see. "What weapons?" she barked another laugh. A monster didn't need weapons … Maybe she _was_ finally mad.

"By all that is good, Evelyn!" her father took a step toward her. "What have they done to your mind to haunt it so?" He thrust a hand out past her down the hall. "Your old friend Dreppin lies tangled in his own entrails … and foolish Phlydia," he shook his wizened head fiercely, "she ran down here to offer a mother's shoulder, and you have butchered her like the monster you perceived her to be!"

"Stop it," she breathed.

"I am a dottering and elderly fool for having let it come to this!" Elminster chimed in. "There stood I, Elminster the Arrogant, nudging and prodding but never taking action …"

"Stop it …" She tried to cover her ears.

"… The most powerful mage in Faerún reduced to a mere puppeteer …!"

"Stop …"

"… Please, my child … my perfect blessed daughter … I have loved you too much to lose you now …"

"STOP IT!!!"

There was silence. She was suddenly back on her feet.

Elminster and Gorion had both taken hasty steps back. Tethtoril merely watched from behind.

She was seething.

Elminster lifted a tentative hand.

"Calm yourself, Evelyn," he warned, "and hold _firm_." Gorion joined him at his side. "Sarevok has encased thee within a vast and frightening illusion. I was unsure whether I could even penetrate it to reach thee." The old man beckoned urgently with that same hand. "But now the time has come for a leap of faith, child. Thou must fling aside this illusion! And let us lead thee back to reality where Sarevok is fightable …"

Evelyn stared at them each in turn. Their faces were so suddenly warm and urgent and welcoming. They only cared about her. They only wanted to _save_ her from that nightmare …

Her blood thickened.

She might have collapsed and fallen again then, but her resolve flared far too strong.

She lowered her head, and nodded. Then she started forward.

"Stay close, Evelyn," Elminster gestured once more with some relief. "Do not stray from us now."

She moved forward into their welcoming hands.

"… Monsters, both real and imagined, still lurk behind each corner."

She only nodded her head again.

"I know."

Gorion was first. He was down before he could even move, her hand striking hard at his throat and silencing him swiftly. Elminster was not far behind. His eyes went wide as her fingers closed around his shaggy, white head. Neck snapping loudly in the dark, he tumbled to the ground. The lantern clattered down with him.

Hands were closing on her throat before she even had a chance to turn, and Tethtoril was suddenly forcing her up and back against the stone wall with a growl.

"THSSS then, fleshLING!" he hissed at her, face alive with livid fury. "Go mad if you will! And feel the rasp of my claws against your _mind_!"

His howling rose in pitch and fury as his grip tightened. Her one fist started pummeling him in the side of the face. Again … again … again … He twisted back to her each time, mouth lolling open in a snarl and tongue raving. Her eyes started to roll back into her head.

A knee took the old man in the stomach. Another fist clubbing him in the head and she was free. Choking on air and barely holding herself upright, she managed another blow as he stumbled away.

Her knee took him in the chin. Another kick sent him staggering, slathering, and hissing back into the opposite wall. He tried to throw himself at her one last time. Her boot struck him square in the skull, crunching it back hard against stone. It cracked there between them.

Evelyn retracted her leg slowly. The other hovered for a moment, and then pitched listlessly to the ground.

He was dead.

She fell down too. Her legs slowly gave out and she was on her knees then on the stone. Her face began to twist. And then tears were streaming madly down the sides of it anew.

Not one of those three moved. She glanced around slowly, almost hopefully. But she was left alone there sobbing into the dark. The choked, pitiful sound of it filled the catacombs, bouncing off the pitiless walls to echo sharply in the void. They were dead, and she was alone … so pitifully and miserably _alone_. She had killed them. She had finally killed them all.

For the longest time … that was all she could do – weep freely there alone in the stillness and the black void that had swallowed her once more. The lantern Elminster had carried still burned next to his tattered corpse. The oil somehow had not spilled. Flames flickered idly in the dark.

No more phantoms came. But neither did they leave. She eventually worked up the courage to look back to where Gorion lay.

She swept an arm across her glimmering eyes, sniffing.

Her hand had slipped inside her coat pocket without her thinking. She felt his letter there – the one Tethtoril had given her. If he was dead, if her father was truly dead and always had been … Tethtoril would not have given her that letter. They had seen his corpse – they had said they'd buried it!

Buried it in the tombs.

They were ghosts. They had to be.

But why were they still there? She had felt the life die in them of her own hands!

They were dead. All of them … were dead.

She had only seen Tethtoril an hour ago. He had helped her escape!

_No_.

It was impossibly quiet. The crinkling of the bruised and folded parchment as she slipped it out of her coat was all that she could hear. Her eyes had not left her father's shadowy corpse.

There was only one man's voice she wanted to hear. Only one man's comforting words she needed so much more than anything just then. That body lying on the floor was broken. It would not speak. But she still needed that voice.

She sniffed, choking back tears. The parchment unfolded in her hands. When her red eyes had dried enough to see … she read.

It was a letter.

_Hello Evelyn,_

_If you are reading this, it means I have met an untimely death. I would tell you not to grieve for me, but I feel much better thinking that you would. There are things I must tell you in this letter that I might have told you before. However, if my death came too soon then I would have never been given the chance. First off, I am not your biological father, for that distinction lies with an entity known as Bhaal. The Bhaal that I speak of is the one you know of as a divinity. In the crisis known as the Time of Troubles, when the Gods walked Faerún, Bhaal was also forced into a mortal shell. He was somehow forewarned of the death that awaited him during this time. For reasons unknown to me, he sought out women of every race and forced himself upon them. Your mother was one of those women, and as you know, she died in childbirth. I had been her friend and on occasion, lover. I felt obligated to raise you as my own. I have always thought of you as my child and I hope you still think of me as your father. You are a special child. The blood of the Gods runs through your veins. If you make use of our extensive library you will find that our founder, Alaundo, has many prophecies concerning the coming of the spawn of Bhaal. There are many who will want to use you for their own purposes. One, a man who calls himself Sarevok, is the worst danger. He has studied here at Candlekeep and thus knows a great deal about your history and who you are._

_Gorion_

It was signed by her father.

Evelyn let the parchment fall. She stared at it in her hands atop her knees. All at once, she started laughing.

The sound of her echoed loudly off the walls – almost as if they were laughing with her, back at her. No other sound came. She was shaking her head wildly, eyes dancing between each of the three corpses that still surrounded her. They seemed smaller somehow.

She was mad. Elminster was right. She was mad, and she had killed them. She had killed them all.

The laughter abruptly stopped. Then the tears began flowing again. She let her body ease down against the cold stone of the floor, curling up as tightly as she could – hugging it as if somehow it might have been her dead father buried somewhere there beneath.

She stayed there for a long time.

Eventually … the lantern gave out.

* * *

Voices.

She could hear them in the craggy tunnel ahead, flitting along and down the rocks like whispering ghosts. They were calling, beckoning … there was a light in the darkness.

She had somehow crawled all the way to the end with nothing more than her fingers in the void. Something kept pushing her on – wouldn't let her stop. Her feet dragged uselessly in the dirt.

The light got brighter, and closer. And so did those sounds. They did not speak to her. No ghosts of dead friends had come to beg death from her in longer than she could remember.

Since she had killed Gorion.

Yes, yes that was right.

She stumbled ahead.

After what seemed an eternity – just another – she could see them. She didn't know who they were. She didn't care.

She pushed herself toward the light.

It was a small fire. Five men were scattered about it, idling against the rocky walls of the cavern tunnels. She didn't know quite when the catacombs had turned into them. But she didn't have much chance to worry over it either. With one last push, she pitched forward and out into the light.

Those voices stopped dead cold.

All at once, five men leapt to their feet. Leather creaked and twisted, hands snatching at hilts belted at sides. Those eyes all fell on her as one.

They waited. None of the others had done that before.

Maybe they weren't dead.

She was puffing hard, her face squashed down against stone. With an effort, she turned it up enough to see.

That seemed to settle it enough for one of them.

"What are you doing here?" a man demanded, taking an angry step forward. "And why are you still wearing that face? Rieltar and the others have already been dealt with!"

She stared up at him, and he stared back, looking more than a little surprised and irritated. Her red, swollen eyes found each of them in turn. She didn't recognize any of them. None of them had drawn weapons yet. She wondered what they were waiting for.

She said nothing, just kept breathing. The lead man narrowed his eyes at her, more doubt growing in them with each passing moment.

Someone was moving. A shape formed out of the shadows behind the five men. Before any of them could do anything more, that figure was suddenly hurrying forward.

It knelt down quickly beside her. She had turned her head back down, waiting patiently for the inevitable. Hands closed around her – gentle hands. They touched the back of her head.

"Evelyn …"

That horrified voice was familiar. She started to stir at the sound of it.

"What are you doing?" someone barked angrily farther behind. "Bounty hunter _trash_."

She was being pulled up. Her body twisted around in that other's grip, her name again on his lips.

Her eyes were forced open. She blinked up at him.

It was Coran.

Her face broke. Fresh tears sprung anew as she shook her head weakly from side to side.

"No," she breathed, pleading. "Not you too …"

His grip tightened around her. He buried his lips in her clinging hair.

"Oh, Evelyn …"

She could feel his chest rattling against her.

Those other voices were still clamoring.

"You, fool! I am speaking to you!"

"What in the Hells do you think you are doing?"

The lead man had taken another hasty step toward them. All at once, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"_You_." His eyes went wide on Evelyn. She paid him no mind. "You are that … that girl!" He stabbed a gloved finger toward her. "She is the one Sarevok was here for! She was supposed to be imprisoned!"

Coran had been murmuring quietly into her ear, incoherently. She didn't hear any of it. At the sound of the other's voice, he suddenly went still and silent. He stiffened. Then he took a deep, steadying breath.

"Stay here."

A small knife slipped into her hand from his. She blinked up at him through tears, face twisting wretchedly.

"No …," she kept on begging softly. "Not you. Not you …"

But he just let her go, and stood.

"What is she doing here?" that man continued barking, eyes still fixed in utter disbelief on the battered girl there in the dirt. "How did she get free?" Coran was moving past him. "How the _bloody_ Hell is she not dead?"

Evelyn could hardly follow what happened next.

That man's hand snaked out for Coran. The Elf's flashed instantly for the blade at the other's belt. Somehow, in the next moment, it was buried to the hilt under his arm. The Elf was twisting instantly away.

Someone shouted as steel rang free in the passage. That lead man was slowly falling, collapsing to the dirt and clutching at his side. Coran was already leaping toward the next.

An axe slipped free. Coran's fist snapped into that man's face. A hatchet whipped through the air. Another man had a bow and sent an arrow hissing hastily after it. The Elf twisted around the man with the axe, pulling him up in front of him. The other stiffened with a sharp grunt as both axe and arrow slammed into his chest.

Coran plucked free the dagger from the dying man's belt. It flashed in his hand before burying itself deep in the bowman's neck. That one tumbled over and back against stone.

A long, wickedly curved blade was sweeping toward the Elf's head. He had dropped his shield and he threw himself aside. Steel came again and sparked against stone. Another man was already charging with an axe, howling. Coran ducked beneath the blow of the first, pounding him hard in the stomach and forcing him away. He caught the axe haft with both hands overhead, grunting hard.

The axeman forced him down to his knees. Both of them remained there for a moment, the one pushing as hard as he could, teeth bared, to crush the Elf, the other pale-faced and sweating as he crumpled ever more into the earth. The man with the blade was already climbing back to his feet.

With another grunt, Coran forced the axe to one side, sending it crashing down hard into the ground. The man looked up only to have the Elf surge up with a knee into his face. Coran ducked under the swordsman's charge, snatched a knife from the man's side, twisted around behind him, and pulled it across his throat.

As that man went down, the Elf turned to the last on the ground with the axe. He came down hard on that one's back with the knife as he struggled to get up. He did not move again after that.

The caverns were quiet again then. Only Coran's heavy breathing pierced the silence. Eventually, he tossed the bloody knife aside, and looked over to her.

She had only watched in silence, indifferent to the quick death that had surrounded her and wondering what that knife was for. As she studied those fresh new corpses, though, some sensible thought finally came back to her.

The Elf swallowed hard, then hurried over to her in a crouch. All at once he was looking her over every which way, desperate and horrified all anew.

"Evelyn …," he breathed, "what did they do to you …?"

His hands felt real. They were not cold iron like all the others. There was the coppery scent of spilt blood in the air. So unlike the others. His fingers forced her to look at him.

"You are supposed to be _dead_," the Elf barely more than breathed.

Her eyes found some focus. They fixed on the distraught leonine face before her. Her tongue eventually formed words.

"Coran." Her fingers closed around his arms like talons, clutching. She could not keep her body from trembling. "What are you doing here?"

The man's jaw clenched. His eyes fluttered.

"You were supposed to be dead," he repeated softly, almost as if to convince himself. "A trap. A trap. He said that you would _dead_!" he growled the last at her, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

She only shook her head numbly.

"Who?"

"Doppelgangers," he mumbled quickly. "They were to kill Rieltar, wear your face to incriminate you. Make _sure_ there were witnesses."

She opened her mouth, but it was no good. The other kept babbling on, barely coherent.

"The catacombs … The catacombs …" He shook his head, eyes still closed. "They were to … to torture you into madness …" His mouth twisted. It almost seemed as if he would start crying too. "He _wanted_ you to _suffer_."

"Who?" Her voice was stronger.

"You were supposed to be dead." He wasn't listening. "_Dead_."

"Coran."

"Doppelgangers." He snatched her up firmly by the shoulders, bearing down on her suddenly then. "They were Doppelgangers, Evelyn!" His face was mere inches from hers, seething, and eyes wild.

She snatched the front of his tunic right back.

"_Who_, Coran?!"

He paused then, letting his breathing settle, and swallowed hard. He shook his head slowly.

"I have done," he swallowed again, "_terrible_ … things, Evelyn."

She had stopped shaking. Her eyes were as wide as his and fixed. Some of her sense had begun to return.

Doppelgangers.

"Coran …" The Elf had drawn back. He stirred at the sound of her voice. It was cold, and dark.

"What are you doing here, Coran?"

He was staring down through her. She could see those thoughts working behind his eyes. They seemed to take in the knife still clutched in her hand just then.

"You must understand, Evelyn," he began slowly, his voice suddenly calm. "I had no choice. And you must promise me," his head bobbed slightly with each word, as if working the difficult thoughts out each, one by one," that when this is over …" His eyes were still unseeing. " … You will see justice done."

He suddenly looked up. "For me." He worked his tongue gently. "For sparing your life."

She stared at him.

_Doppelgangers_.

_Not_ Gorion …

Her jaw wouldn't work.

"I have not been," he continued slowly, eyes roving listlessly about, "entirely truthful … with you, Evelyn. With any of you. It was not chance that we met in the Cloakwood." He did not look at her. "I was sent there," he explained carefully. "I was sent there to meet you."

"What …?" she finally managed.

"He thought it likely that you would go there next," Coran answered quickly, readily. "Given your progress. He followed you to Tazok's encampment in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. _I_ took to hunting Wyverns for the mayor in Beregost. It got me past the druids at least."

He was babbling again. He barely paid any heed to her as he spoke. Evelyn could hardly have stopped him. It took all her little sanity and more to keep her thoughts from flying away.

Not Gorion …

"I think I told you how best it was to keep as close to the truth as you may to make for a better lie?" He almost barked a laugh. "I should have known that you would not be alone. I squandered my chance in the river. It was _my_ mistake."

He started working away fretfully at a knuckle with his teeth.

"By Davaeorn, I knew. If the river had not been warning enough, I knew." His eyes flashed up briefly toward hers. "I was to bring you to Baldur's Gate. There I knew he would have fled. That was where he would go. You would be more easily overcome there … there in _our_ city. I knew that was where he would go."

"Who?" she nearly choked on her own tongue. "Who, Coran?"

His eyes found hers for another moment. They were still as anxious and wild as before. But his voice was smooth. "Nimbul. Nimbul Restek."

He looked back away.

"He thought he was under orders from Rieltar. But the man's son had tricked him. Rieltar had nothing to do with wanting your death."

The Elf shook his head. An ironic grin painted his lips. But it was quickly gone.

"I told them I was done with it," he continued again quietly to himself. "I told them I was done with it when I found out. I could not be a part of it anymore. I was not _going_ to be a part of it anymore.

"I did not go to the Blushing Mermaid that night the Zhents attacked me." He shook his head. "Anchev's son tried to give Nimbul orders – he wanted to know what he had learned of you."

He swallowed hard. "If ever that man was a fool … it was for being too loyal to his master. Said you were '_too dangerous _to leave to _his _bungling hands'. Sarevok disappeared from the city not long after Nimbul had gone after Rieltar to warn him here in Candlekeep."

The dead man's corpse flashed in her eyes. Angry tears were blurring them now as she glared at the other.

"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded hoarsely, angrily. "Why? _Why_?"

He rounded on her slowly, almost gently, and rested a hand on her arm.

"You must understand, Evelyn," he pleaded softly. "You _must_." He was shaking his head. "I did not do this for gold. You were only a face on a bounty when I took that hunt."

"Stop," she pleaded back desperately. "Please stop …"

"I needed to escape that city. But I could not wander penniless and hope to survive long. I knew Bloodscalp would not be pleased. I took the first work I _could_.

"You were nothing, Evelyn," he almost spat the words. "Nothing but a face."

She was shaking her head fiercely.

"But Eldoth was right about one thing at least." His eyes suddenly looked haunted – hollow and staring. "I could not run from them forever. She had finally had the child while I was gone."

Her knuckles had gone white around the knife in her hand. She was weeping freely now, face twisting wretchedly.

"They took her from me," he fixed her hard with a glare, eyes waving. "Her bastard of a husband sold her to them looking for _me_. They took her from her mother's _hands,_ and threatened to kill them both!" Those eyes were manic, bearing down fiercely on her. They needed her so desperately to understand.

"They knew of me. Knew of you! I was the best chance to get close to you should something go wrong." He stabbed a finger to his chest. "_I_ was the best chance to kill you should you survive. _Me_."

He settled back for a moment. The only sound then for the next few was her steady weeping. Eventually, he turned back.

"He must have known that you would survive," he muttered quietly. "He must have." His face twisted into a pitiful grimace. "He has enjoyed torturing me like this. They _all_ have."

He took a deep breath.

"No more."

He was on his feet. Evelyn blinked up at him, still shaking her head and mouthing incoherent words. He stared down at her for some time.

"I have done terrible things. To you, Evelyn," he raised both eyebrows, "to others." And canted his head. "It all ends tonight.

"Only one of us leaves this tomb, Evelyn. That much, at least, was made clear enough to me. They will kill Namara and her mother, if I let you live." His lips suddenly cracked into a smile. "You are lucky that I am not a better man than I am. At least not tonight."

She stared up at him. He smiled down at her. Then he reached for her hand. He did not take the knife, though. She thought he would. Instead, he pulled her up.

"You _must_ promise me, Evelyn," he told her firmly, sobering. "You must promise me that you will see justice done for me. For Brielbara. You must find a man named Zhalimar Cloudwulfe. It was _he_ who bid me come here with her hostage – to serve Rieltar's son where Nimbul Restek would not. You _must find him_ … and you must kill him. For me, Evelyn." He lowered his eyes grimly at the last.

He had had her by the arm. Somehow, she did not fall as he released her and stepped back. He left the knife with her.

"Come, sweetling," he forced a hard smile for her. "I have done enough unforgivable things for one lifetime. It should not be too hard. Let me do this one good." His hand lingered briefly over his heart as if showing her the way.

Evelyn stared at him, still sobbing. She looked down at the knife in her hand. She swept the other hastily across her eyes. Her fingers started to shake.

"No."

Her voice was small, hopelessly weak. She sniffed, swatting at her eyes again.

"Do it, Evelyn. Do it now."

She was shaking her head.

"_No_."

"You _must_!"

"No …"

"Right _here_!" the Elf thumped a thumb to his heart. "_Right_ now! _Do_ it!"

"N-no."

"Evelyn!" He took an angry step forward.

The knife clattered free from her hand.

"EVELYN!"

He had her by the front of the coat and slammed back against the rocky wall. She cried out sharply as stone jabbed into her back. That face was livid and his body shook. Those eyes cut like daggers.

"DO IT! DO IT NOW!"

"NO!!!"

Suddenly it wasn't him holding her anymore. Suddenly it was her hands around his throat and slamming him back. He was dangling a foot above her in the air.

"NO!"

Her teeth were bared. She hissed bloody murder up at his wild and suddenly terrified eyes. His hands were clutching hard at her own.

She squeezed a little tighter.

"Do you know what I am?" she snarled up at him through clenched teeth. "Do you? Do you, Coran?"

The Elf managed to slip his fingers in between hers. He sucked in a breath.

"I do … I do now," he rasped, eyes little more than slits.

She picked him up and swung him over, hammering him into the other side of the tunnel. Her eyes were alive with murder. The fire flickered somewhere behind.

She slammed him back again.

"Evelyn!" he gasped.

Her eyes went wide. All at once, she dropped the Elf. He tumbled down to his feet against the stone, gasping and coughing.

She twisted away, trembling and numb all over. Ghosts flitted quickly through her mind – dead faces. She shook her head, forcing them out. But Gorion's clung to her like a shroud. He would not leave.

"No … no … no … no …"

She was shaking. She could hear the Elf's voice sounding softly behind her. It was the saddest sound she had ever heard.

"Evelyn?" he called after her softly. She did not answer, though. She just kept mumbling to herself. He continued quietly all the same.

"Will you make me this promise, Evelyn?"

She was shaking her head. That insidious whisper was clamoring from deep down inside. It was wide awake and begging.

She shook her head.

The man sighed. She just kept pleading with that demon. Those ghosts. She was begging them all to go away – to just leave her _alone_ …

There was the scrape of metal against stone.

"I am sorry then, Evelyn. I truly am." He was sighing, long and hard, behind her. "I am sorry that it has come to this. But I … but I," he choked angrily on the words, nearly bursting into tears. "But I will not just let her _die_ …"

She didn't hear him. She just swiped at her eyes and made a pitiful sound deep in her throat to match his own.

"I am sorry."

Her back was still to him. She didn't see him lift that knife in his hands. She wasn't listening when his foot crunched nearer against the stone. And she didn't hear that sudden sob that wracked his chest before he stopped.

There was a pause.

And then she did feel steel slicing into her from behind.

She was screaming. Her body had started to fall, recoiling almost instinctively from the blow. He had not been expecting that. And that something suddenly surged up in an instant from inside her, seizing control.

As she fell, her eyes turned black.

Coran was hurtling over and back against the wall. One moment Evelyn was on her knees on the ground, the next she was facing him down, fists clenched at her sides and seething. She was already starting toward him before he even realized what had happened.

The knife clattered down to the earth. Coran thrust a fumbling hand after it. He staggered forward and up, right into her waiting hands. Still dazed, they lifted him high.

Almost at once, Evelyn could feel that demon reaching out. Her blood was singing. She screamed.

The Elf tumbled back down to his feet. He stumbled back against the wall even as Evelyn staggered back and away. She was howling madly, wrestling with that black thing for control. It gnashed its teeth hungrily back.

Coran threw himself at the knife. Then he threw himself at her.

The demon saw him coming.

It swatted her aside. Its hand caught the Elf by the throat. His own swung wildly at her with the blade, just beyond reach.

Those fingers started to close.

Evelyn slammed her other arm hard into the Elf's side. He hurtled free of both, crashing hard once more against the far wall. He crumpled down, face to stone, and lay still.

Both her hands seemed to be wrestling with each other then. Her teeth were bared – she was snarling wildly. Then, all of a sudden …

She won.

She hit the ground in surprise, toppling over. Then she lay there, gasping in air and squeezing her eyes shut. It was gone. It was gone. It was gone … It was gone.

_Gone_ …

She took a deep breath. Then she scrambled back up to her feet.

The Elf lay unmoving atop one of those other corpses several paces away.

She felt that breath catch in her throat.

"C-Coran?"

Her voice echoed dully off the craggy walls. It was so soft and useless, she wasn't even sure he could have heart it.

She took a step forward.

"Coran …?"

There was no answer.

Tears sprung anew to her eyes. She choked back a sob. Then she took another step forward.

He wasn't moving. She reached a hand out tentatively to touch his back where he lay. The wound in hers seemed to burn angrier in response.

There was no breath. It was still.

Evelyn pulled back. Her chest started heaving. She stared down at the Elf's fallen form with red, wild eyes. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. And, suddenly … her legs were taking her far away.

She ran from that tomb. The air was thinner here, the gloom less thick. She bounded off wall after wall, rock after rock, desperate to be anywhere but there.

She could barely see. Her eyes were blurring with tears as she half-ran, half-stumbled ahead into the dark with her hands stretched out before her. It was a miracle that she somehow didn't manage to crack her head open on some hanging rock. A _curse_.

She knew better. She knew better.

Her knee splashed down into a puddle. She looked up … Fresh air greeted her cold flesh.

She charged ahead blindly up the tunnel, bawling all the way. It was all she could do to keep herself moving, keep her legs working to get her away from that black hole.

And then it suddenly wasn't black anymore.

Starlight was wafting down about her before she realized it. Cold, salty wind whipped at her skin. Sparse grass surrounded her atop craggy rocks, and, somewhere far below, the drumming of waves against stone.

She was free.

She was laughing and crying all at once. Her body was trying to tear itself apart with the force of it. She didn't even notice the dark shape peering at her out of the dark.

"Evelyn …"

A quiet voice shattered the stillness. Her eyes flashed up to meet its source, all hope dying instantly within her anew. It took a step forward.

Her knees gave out first. She collapsed down atop them, wobbling as she tried desperately to keep herself upright. It was a losing battle, though. She had no strength left to fight anymore.

She held out as long as she could, eyes dark and glaring balefully toward that man in the gloom. Then she started to pitch forward.

The other threw himself at her almost at once.

She waited for more pain, more suffering – more _death_. But none came. Instead, two arms enfolded her, catching her swiftly before she could fall. And she was suddenly nothing but dead, trembling weight in those arms.

She could feel those eyes down on her. Eventually, she had the strength to look up.

It was Xan.

Oh Gods! It was Xan.

"Are you alright?" he demanded after a moment, the question sounding almost useless on his lilting tongue. His grip around her was stiff, almost as if he thought her not truly there. She could see his twisting face in the gloom.

"By the gods, Evelyn … what happened to you?"

His voice was barely more than a terrified whisper.

Whatever little was left of her … it came apart in his arms. She didn't know how he was there. She hardly knew whether it was some dream, or another ghost or trick, or … or …

She didn't care. She suddenly just didn't care. There was nothing left within her that was enough to still disbelieve.

Her hands were clawing at him desperately, her frantic crying suddenly all that filled her ears then in the starlit night. She buried her head against his shoulder, shaking it fiercely from side to side.

"Don't leave … Don't leave … _Please_, don't leave … Please don't …"

The Elven mage softened then. He squeezed her abruptly tighter, a tentative hand grasping at her back. She didn't think he could hear her. She didn't care. She kept whispering the words over and over between sobs, unable to stop. A hand moved up to cradle the back of her head.

"What happened, Evelyn?" he asked quietly once more.

Her mouth flung open against his shoulder. For a moment, she could not even speak she was crying so hard. But she did. Eventually, she did. She forced herself too.

"He's dead," she choked, sucking in a breath. "He's dead."

And then it all just came crashing down.


	69. Chapter 7 Twilight Dreaming

_**Twilight Dreaming**_

His eyes snapped open.

It was dark. Too dark. For a few moments, his bleary eyes could only dart about at the dancing shadows and black specks. He blinked, wincing. The breath was still caught in his throat. With an effort, he swallowed, and blinked again.

The room was large and still, the night cold. His fine silk sleeping gown hardly did anything to keep it at bay. A shiver crawled up his spine even as the coarse hairs on his arms started to itch. Nothing moved. He pushed thick blankets aside to scratch them.

Several moments stretched on sluggishly for a time then, sitting still and drifting. It left him to wonder if he were even truly awake at all. He decided that he was. And he finally let himself breath again as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

A hand snatched at his arm and he started in surprise. The woman in the bed beside him stirred. He could just make out her ghostly silhouette lying there beneath the covers. That soft, muffled voice was still heavy with sleep.

"What is it …?"

The man shook his head, pulling his arm free. He realized that she could not have seen it.

"Nothing," he grumbled weakly. He shook his head again. "A dream."

With a weary groan, he heard her head strike pillow once more. He stuck his feet out over the side of the bed, anything else fleeing from mind. He grunted as he rolled his stiff shoulders in the dark.

"Belmondt," he called out groggily. Another stifled groan from the bed behind him was the only answer. There was a thick, wet sound as he cleared his throat.

"Belmondt!"

He pushed himself up further until he was wide awake and perched at the edge of the large bed. Still, there was no answer.

"Blasted boy has the brains of an ox," he grumbled, sticking his groaning legs out and down to the cold hard marble of the floor. He found the relative protection of finely woven carpets quickly enough.

"That is because he knows well enough that you should not be prowling about at such an _ungodly_ hour …"

The man only spared that bothersome voice a brief glance. He waved an irritable hand after her vanishing form as he stood. "BELMONDT!" He started away into the room toward the hall.

He pushed through the door, calling out his manservant's name one more time. The old dolt should have answered him long ago. He was wide awake now, and there was no chance of putting himself back to sleep. He would be damned if he paid his servants such and _still_ had to go down to the kitchens and fix his own food.

"Belmondt! Curséd boy …"

He grumbled the last under his breath as he took a step further out into the hall.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he spun back about – that woman was there in the doorway. With a scornful look upon her features that he could just barely see, she snatched the latch in one hand and slammed the thing shut in his face. He growled deep in his throat, turned back toward the hall, and started stumbling his way along in the dark.

There were no lanterns or candles lit. The sconces lay black and dead in the walls. _Someone_ should have at least kept the light going. He wasn't quite sure whether or not his servants always left the manor house unlit like this during the night. He had never bothered to check for himself so late. But as he tripped over his third chest, or footstool, or chair, or – or whatever they were! – he decided that he didn't rightly care. Someone was going to pay dearly for making him stumble around so in his own home! He did not expend such coin not to have his manor kept in _proper_ care.

He thought he was nearing the other end of the hall and the stairs. He struck a hand out to feel his way cautiously along. It didn't help. His foot caught against a low-lying table and he nearly pitched forward with a fierce cry as he stubbed his toes.

He sat there for a moment, crouched over and clutching his shin uselessly as he angrily willed the pain to subside. Air seethed in and out of his mouth through his teeth, and he glared hard with his eyes.

He was going to skin that old fool alive when he found him!

Someone giggled. The man twisted about instantly in the dark, catching his breath. All at once he was back on his feet, anger turned aside from the throbbing pain in his foot to the darkness about. His lips curled back into a snarl.

"Who is there?" he demanded in a low growl. His knuckles cracked there in the dark.

He was not about to be laughed at by some _fool_ servant. It was enough that he had suffered that much already. And if it was some kind of peasant's joke … well, _he_ was not laughing. And soon, neither would they.

"I said … who is there?"

He took a step in the direction he thought he had heard the girl. His ears perked to listen. But there was nothing.

"Answer me!"

The giggling came again, behind him. He spun about instantly, one fist ready to clobber whatever fool girl was having her fun with him in the dark. His teeth were bared vengefully at shadow, eyes scouring the black hall.

Air moved in front of him. Without a second thought one burly arm was swinging wide and snatching. It came up empty. The other followed it, and then the first again, and again. He was several steps along before he finally stopped, fuming. That giggling sounded again not far away.

The man was boiling over with rage by now, shaking like a leaf there in the dark. The laughing continued, soft and undaunted. He ground his teeth, knuckles cracking loudly.

When he got his hands on whatever _fool_ girl …

He stilled abruptly. Some of that anger bled out of him instantly as his eyes darted away anew.

The blackness was still. Only the heavy sound of his breathing broke through it in drumming cadence. He swallowed thickly.

"Skie …?" he breathed. For a moment, everything was silent.

Then that voice sounded right in front of him.

"Not quite."

A small shape appeared almost on top of him – a girl. He took a step back in surprise, sucking in a breath. Something pricked at the flesh beneath his ribs. That breath came spilling back out almost instantly. And so did something else.

He stumbled farther back. The girl let him go. A hand fumbled at his stomach. There was a fine hole in the silk of his sleeping gown. He blinked up at that shape in the dark. It started giggling softly once more.

Blood spilled out, flowing over the hole in his stomach. Both hands were lashing out instantly, leaping for the girl's throat. She twisted easily away, out of reach. Steel plunged deep into the flesh at the man's side.

"GODS!"

He roared aloud as he felt more blood loosed, the dagger wrenched free from him once more. He threw himself to the ground, flinging every limb out desperately to hit something – anything! He caught only air. Soft laughter filled the hall anew.

He was rolling haphazardly away, blood trailing against fine carpets and marble. Footsteps followed swiftly behind. Both palms struck floor, and then he was crawling.

A fireplace loomed up large out of the shadows behind him. He recognized its massive shape instantly. He thrust a hand out toward the wire barrel at its side, and his fingers closed about the iron poker.

With a triumphant bellow, he threw himself back onto his feet, ignoring the blood seeping steadily out of his middle. He thrust the thing out before him like a blade, the girl's shape only steps behind. She stopped instantly in her tracks.

"You're dead _now_, girl!"

He spluttered, barreling forward, another cry of victory already on his lips. Not a blade, but he could well make due. The poker was hurtling past that feeble dagger straight for her chest. He could all but feel it stick flesh. A hand twirled up to meet him.

Light seared the length of the hall in one brilliant flash. The girl's voice flared just behind it. They swallowed him whole, threatening to burn out the backs of his eyes. He howled, or tried to. The breath was ripped suddenly free from his lungs.

His world was spinning. For a moment, he was weightless. And then his back struck solid ground once more. Iron clattered uselessly away from his hands, the sound echoing dully inside his skull. He tumbled over and over, stairs flashing beneath him.

Marble rails hammered into him a few times as he rounded the bend in the stairwell. More marble battered his body until it was broken, bloody, and bruised, tumbling down and down. It was hours before he finally reached the bottom.

It wasn't so dark down here. But the world had hardly settled. He tried to lift his head, his brains rattling dangerously inside his skull and pounding against bone. A few fingers on his left hand twitched into motion. He blinked through tears and blood at them in amazement.

Someone came to stand above him. The only sound in the low light then was his rasping breath as he struggled to breathe, and those dying footsteps.

He tried to look up. All he could see was that dark silhouette there against the night. He mouthed one word. Even he wasn't sure what it was.

The girl smiled down at him. He could feel his heart fluttering wildly, and then start to slow. He was dying? The hairs on his arm itched. Where was Belmondt? He couldn't remember who that was.

The girl was giggling down at him. He blinked up at her.

She lifted one boot high. Then it came stomping down toward his throat.

For the Grand Duke Entar Silvershield, the world went suddenly black.

* * *

Commander Scar blinked down at the sodden stone. Then up at the drizzling night sky. All at once, the heavens began to pour down on him. If he didn't know better, he would have thought they had been just waiting for him to look. But he did.

He turned back down, and crouched low.

There was something there on the street, lying just alongside the small, slate-roofed houses before him. He slipped off his leather glove and plucked it from the damp stone before the sudden storm could wash it away down the gutter. It was a pale, white rose.

Cradling the flower gently in his large hand, Scar stood, glancing upwards once more. The window on the second story stood wide open, the insides bright with candlelight beyond the drawn curtains. He had caught the motion there before it had vanished. A smile slowly lit his bearded face.

_She remembered_.

He hefted the rose in his palm, grasping it tight and grinning like a fool despite the sharp stab of thorns. He had already taken a step toward the house before catching himself.

It was still patrol. She must have stayed up and seen him coming along the streets. Waited for him. He did try to curve his path so that he passed there more often than not. Though, he had never once dared turn aside. Until then. But he caught himself.

A face poked out through those curtains. He had left the other men in his unit behind briefly so that he might see. Eyes alighted on him after a brief moment of furtive searching, pretending as if they were surprised to find him there, alone. Then there was no mistaking the beckoning smile upon full lips. Two slim, silk-clad arms slipped out to take both panels of the window, closing it shut against the rain. But not before granting him that one, last look.

He had taken another step forward, his feet all but acting on their own. He wasn't in a position to stop them. And yet, he did. He paused for one more moment, his face grim.

He could. He _could_ …

Just this once. It was a chance. He knew it. But he had fought in enough battles, faced overwhelming odds coolly and calmly, earned his scars and saved enough lives … He knew the price of failure, of not seizing the opportunity when it presented itself. He knew what would happen if he just walked away as he always had before.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

His hand closed tight about the rose, nearly crushing it. Then he was grinning, once more like a fool. He _was_ a fool. He had already taken another step forward, smiling. His boots were all but bouncing on the front step. He shook his head.

The decision had been made the moment he shifted free of his men that night.

One hand held the rose before him like a shield. The other reached out to rap against the wood.

A scream cut it off.

He blinked. His hand was already on hilt as his body twisted instantly back around. It took his head a moment more to catch up. It was so lost in muddling delusions and pleasant fantasies, he almost thought that it might not. But a lifetime of training …

It did.

He squinted in the rain and the dark. For a moment, he could see nothing. Then there was the dark flurry of a shape flitting through the gloom. He could just make out another beyond it, further down the street, waving its arms wildly. A voice was crying out, swallowed in the storm.

His jaw clenched tight.

He hesitated a moment more, only a moment. A step out into the street and he had already turned back. The cutpurse was getting away. Windows opened up above. A woman's face peered out, wondering why he still had not come. He glanced up at her.

Finally, he took the white rose, and pressed it to his lips. Then he slipped it in behind his belt. She only watched. There was nothing to say.

He charged away into the streets.

The thief was ahead. He could make him out almost easily despite the rain and the gloom. Few enough people were out during the storms in that hour. He pushed them roughly aside, ignoring their sharp cries back. He had no back up, no reinforcements. He might have regretted leaving his patrol behind just then, but it was only one, little thief.

The smaller form of the other flitted ahead, gliding easily along the slick stone and through them. Scar just managed to keep his boots from slipping. He was already gaining, though. The other must not have thought to find any guards in that part of the city so late. It was unfortunate then, for the thief, that that was not the case.

He was nearly on top of the other. Then, abruptly, the cutpurse had thrown himself aside, hurtling into a back alley. Scar came skidding to a halt, boots nearly slipping out from under him against the wet stone. Coming about, he swept his sword free, and plunged in after.

The dark of the alley closed in quickly about. Scar came swiftly again to a halt, listening. He knew this part of the city well enough. That narrow lane would have been a dead end for the thief. He had him.

He started slowly forward.

He could hear almost nothing in the dark. Only the gray, choked light of the moon behind the clouds showed him anything. He squinted ahead.

Thunder rumbled overhead. A hand swatted away the rain that spilled down over his brow. It drummed steadily down on dirty stone all about. The street died away behind and his boots clomping down was the only other sound there under the clouded moon. Another step and he was just beneath it.

He stopped.

"Come out," he ordered calmly, loudly. He held the blade out easily to one side, glancing about. Only the storm above answered him.

"There is no way out of here."

His eyes continued roving about the stillness. He blinked away more rain. Then he saw something there in the gloom.

"Yer right about that, mate."

A shape detached itself from night. His blade swept instantly about, swinging toward it. The thief came quickly to a halt at that, both hands raised. Something dangled from one.

"It's all yours."

One hand swung back. That thing was hurtling through the air between them, straight for Scar's face. The tip of his blade caught it, warding it easily aside. The thief had hardly wasted a moment.

"HOLD!"

The blade was extended between them. The thief came up short again, dagger in hand. Scar felt his jaw crack. He lowered his head, and started toward the other.

The man did not move. He did not even lift his dagger. Rain puddled all around him, glistening dully in the dim light. Wind lapped suddenly at Scar's back down the alley. The blade leveled with the other's heart.

The thief threw his hands up, but Scar pushed right up until the tip of his sword was digging into the man's chest and forcing him back. He bared his teeth down at the other.

"It's the stocks for you, thief!" he growled. "I'll teach you to steal on _my_ watch …"

But the other only blinked up at him, half-smiling in surprise.

"Steal?" he voiced softly, grinning. "Steal what?"

Scar glared right back. Then he looked over to where that purse had fallen after the man had tried to throw it at him. It had split open on his sword. A handful of colored marbles spilled out.

He had the man by the scruff of the neck in one hand instantly. His lips had curled back into a rictus snarl beneath his beard. The other only glanced past him.

"Watch yer back, mate."

Lightning flashed. Scar's eyes blinked wide as he twisted his head back around. Shadows flashed. One glided soundlessly down from above, landing softly just behind. Thunder followed swiftly in its wake.

He grunted, and tossed the thief aside. The blade in his free hand came up as he twisted around, and then stopped. Pain lanced through his arm, and he blinked down at it as the steel tumbled free from useless fingers. His wrist was slashed open, right down to the bone. Crimson and black washed away down his hand in the rain.

He blinked back up through the rain. A man was waiting for him when he got there, impassive face wrinkled into a small smile as it caught sight of his. The guard commander picked one foot up, and then the other, starting forward.

It was like moving blocks of stone. Soon, they stopped working altogether. He stumbled down to his knees.

A hand reached around to the back of his neck. Scar could already feel the blood that seeped out from there. Steel jutted out brazenly from the flesh.

He blinked at the man before him, face twisting in confusion. Another flash of steel was his only answer, this time to his stomach. It stuck right through plated mail and leather to flesh.

Scar growled deep in his throat, doubling over and against the other. One hand to each of the man's shoulders, he just managed to keep himself upright. He forced his eyes up to meet the other's.

Steel. Again, and again. And again. The bearded man grunted against each stabbing blow, crumpling just that much more in upon himself with every one.

The sound of grinding metal tore at his ears. He tried to swing a fist – to hammer a blow into the other man. But they were weak, far too weak. Eventually… he just stopped.

He slumped on his knees. His eyes fell down to the wet stone beneath, head lolling. He watched fresh blood mingle with the rain between the misshapen stones, his own heartbeat thick and loud inside his skull. There was too little, far too little.

Chest heaving, he looked back up. That man was standing above him, long, slim blade in hand. He cocked his head to one side, then bent over, mouth to the bearded man's ear.

"Goodnight … Commander."

He was still slouched upright there, cheeks puffing out furiously and eyes wide in futile rage. That other's hand slipped quickly across his throat. Scar suddenly choked.

Then he pitched forward into the stone, and died.


	70. Chapter 7 Broken Trails

_**Broken Trails**_

It was calm here.

Waves were crashing down against the craggy face of the stony bluff below, rebounding back out to sea in a gentle rolling mass of froth and water. It stretched forever on into the blue horizon, just as it always had. The wind lapped insistently, urging it ever on into that bastion of dauntless earth and rock. It swept through the trees, swaying their branches softly as the creak of wood and rustle of leaves filled the summer air. Shadows flecked the land along the brush of the earth below, scattering with those leaves above as the gleaming midday sun poked through, and the cliffs came alive with a glistening, golden glow.

An eagle passed overhead. Eyes followed it briefly as it circled the canopy of the trees behind, vanishing from sight in the creaking, shifting branches. Its soft, piercing cry could be heard easily above. There were more out there somewhere in the azure heights, hunting the alabaster pastures of gently grazing clouds just beyond.

The grass below was stirring too. Nestled in ranging tufts clutched close to the earth, it waved into the breeze, fluttering lightly any which way as it pleased. The morning light beat down on it, casting sharply all along its tips and glinting like blades in the early day. A verdant sea of swords.

Evelyn broke some free with her hand.

Nothing had changed.

Her eyes were back on the sea. She started twisting the flimsy blades between her fingers, barely aware of just what she was doing. That day was much too beautiful to pay attention to any one small part of it for long.

She had given herself some time to think.

The stone fell away into sharp, dusty crags a short ways before her, the tufts of grass dying out only to tumble down into the crumbling face of the cliffs below. Her legs stretched out toward them, her elbows resting atop her knees. Trees surrounded her behind. She did not look back there, though. She tried not to. Every time she did … she saw his face.

Those ancient eyes popped out of their sunken sockets, bulging. Her own blinked away. He was gagging, gagging at her hand crushing his throat. Before he could hit the stone once more, though, she was shaking her head.

It was gone.

Candlekeep was back that way. She could have just made out the gray walls above and through the trees in the distance. She had left it behind in the night. She didn't think she could have stood to stay there any longer, not so close. But it wasn't her that had taken her away in the dark.

She had awoken alone, lying in the grass in her rumpled lavender coat. Those flashes of the faces of her dead friends had plagued her all night through her dreams. Nightmares. She had not killed them, though. Not them. Not the _real_ them. She kept telling herself that. Hadto keep telling herself that. It had brought some sense of sanity back to her after that night at least.

Some.

Her lips twitched upwards briefly. Then they hardened down into a grim line. Her eyes were back on the blue horizon.

Tethtoril had said that she would see her friends soon enough. Before he had led her down there. She supposed that the red-robed monk had been one all along. How long was that? Maybe the real Tethtoril was dead. Maybe they all were. She couldn't know. Somehow, she didn't think the monks were going to let her back inside to find out.

It didn't matter much anymore. Anyways.

Coran had been no Doppelganger.

She could have almost hoped that the Elf had been. She could have almost hoped that the man she had smashed into the rocks until he was dead was not the same one who had helped her, stood by her side as a friend, and even tried to console her when she had needed it so badly. She could have. But he hadn't. No more than Xan had been. She knew.

She wondered how tortured the Elf they had first happened upon in the Cloakwood must have been to act so toward her all that while. He had fooled her. He had fooled all of them. She had let herself be fooled. She had been weak. But he had been weak too. He had failed to kill her when he had the chance.

She almost laughed in spite of herself. Maybe he had never had that chance at all. Her father's last written words still burned where they had been etched permanently within the walls of her mind.

The Elf had betrayed her.

_No_.

No.

She wouldn't remember him that way. She couldn't.

She squeezed her eyes shut. When they opened again, they were steady once more.

Sarevok Anchev did not know her as well as he thought. Those tears died on her cheeks as quickly as they had come. She could not afford a place for them anymore. Too many had died already because she had been too weak. Yeslick, Coran …

Gorion's letter was burning a hole in her pocket.

Her hand slipped inside her coat. It did that a lot of late … without her realizing it. She forcibly made herself stop, and moved her hand back to clutch at her knees where it would stay. She should have been rid of it back in the tombs. Like everything else.

It was strange. She thought so, anyways. With everything that had happened last night – already – she wondered – not for the first time – whether she was somehow still dreaming. Maybe they had been right. Maybe it was another trick. Tethtoril had given her the letter. Not Gorion. But she recognized his mark, his handwriting. The voice was so cold. He could have been writing about research, or the weather. Not her. Not her.

But her father never lied to her. Not to her.

She could have almost laughed. Almost. It made a strange sort of sense, in a way. She should have been dead, though. She _should_ have been dead. If Gorion had believed any such thing … She should have been dead. A long time ago. It didn't make much sense.

He had spent so much time and trouble raising her, educating her, instructing her so that she might live right and well. He had loved her. Despite anything he might have said and done, he had loved her. He had always loved her. It didn't make any sense. He had thrown his life _away_ for her.

She had thought it so many times before. It hardly made much difference now. Her throat tensed.

If he had let her live … If Gorion had given his life to see her safe and protected … There was only one good reason why he would do that. She was supposed to do something. Something important. Gorion had never wasted his time with anything less. It was the same with her. She was supposed to do something important. More important than her, or even him.

She should have been rid of that letter. If it was true–

It _was_. It was. It _had_ to be.

If it was true … then there was another good reason why she shouldn't keep it. She was lucky enough that Xan hadn't searched her while she slept. She would be lucky enough if no one else ever did. What would happen if any of them found out …?

It wouldn't come to that.

Her face smoothed over.

_No_. It wouldn't.

They would end up like Coran. Or Yeslick.

_No_.

She bit her lip, scrunching her eyes shut. Only a few tears got free. It passed.

Something moved close. She might have started in surprise, but she was too deep in thought even for that. And that someone had already settled down quietly beside her. She didn't have to look to know that it was Xan. He had been gone when she woke, and she had not seen him since last night.

"Are you all right?"

His eyes were on her, a worried frown painting his face. She did not answer him, though. She only bobbed her head slowly.

"They are not where I left them," the other continued, looking away and following her gaze out toward the sea. "We will have to do some searching."

Still, she only nodded her head. The other folded his legs in front of him with a sigh, leaning back. He was quiet like that for some time.

He had come alone. None of the others had been waiting there for her when she escaped. Tethtoril had said that she would see them soon enough. She supposed she already had. She thought she knew now just what he had meant.

How the Elf had managed to find her, though, she had not bothered to ask. It almost didn't matter. It would have been better not to have been left there alone. She already knew how terrible that might have been. Most of it had already passed. She liked to think.

It was not over, though. Far from it. The leaders of the Iron Throne might have been dealt with, but they had little or nothing to do with Gorion's death. Sarevok Anchev was still out there. With any luck … he didn't know that she wasn't dead.

They were both quiet. They sat there for a long time in silence, Evelyn hardly knew how long. Her thoughts kept running away with her, and she lost track of time. The Elf, however, did not.

"What are you thinking, Evelyn?" he asked softly after a while.

She blinked at him. He was still looking out and away. She didn't bother to say anything for the moment. He sighed.

"You have yet to tell me what happened … or just who it was that you killed."

She looked at him, and held his eyes for a moment. Only a moment. Hers were steady.

"I didn't kill them Xan."

The leaders of the Iron Throne. And the monks.

She waited. She waited for him to blink, to breathe, to shake his head in relief and disbelief. But he didn't. Instead, the Elf just remained still, studying her. Then he nodded his head.

"I know."

He nodded it again, opened his mouth, and quickly closed it again. He looked over at her, and then away. She didn't bother to say anything more.

There was silence for a time. They both watched the rolling waves in peace. She tried to forget what he had asked. She tried to forget about it all and think about something else – something more pleasant. It was impossible, though. She thought, at least, that she made it look as if she were.

Eventually, she heard the other sigh again.

"As we move on," he murmured softly, "I begin to understand in earnest that the Fates have a twisted sense of humor." The sound of his lilting voice was as fluid and elegant as that scene below. "During my stay at the Academy of Magic, and later, I never took time to make many friends. It is irony that I came to know you with my life coming to a close."

She turned her head to look at him. He was still staring forward. His chest rose as he took in a deep breath.

"Irony does not equal good."

His lips twitched upwards briefly, grimly. They fell, and he hardened.

"There is too much death about." His eyes were roving as if to see it. She watched him.

"When it happens …" He struggled for a moment. Then he closed his eyes. "I do not know what I would do if anything were to happen … to you."

He looked back at her.

"Evelyn," he began, almost seeming to choke on the words, "I did not tell the others of just what I would do because I was afraid …"

His mouth kept moving but no sounds came. He swallowed, eyes glinting. Then he looked hurriedly back away.

"I was _afraid_," he managed finally at the last, calmly, "I was afraid that I would find you. Of the _place_ that I would find you. I was terrified.

"I could not let it come to that," he continued softly. "I know so much better than they. I have _seen_ it with my own eyes." They gently fluttered shut. "I would have protected them from it. I would have protected _you_ … from _them_."

Her own eyes were still fixed on him, but he avoided them. She was still sane enough, she thought, to know just how mad she must have looked. She shook her head.

"It was a trap."

"What?" The Elf rounded slowly on her.

"It was a trap," she repeated. She felt her lips curl slightly at the thought, somehow, taking her away for a brief moment. She fixed quickly back on him. And then she told him.

She told him about the Doppelgangers. She told him about Tethtoril and Elminster. She told him about all of her friends – those monsters wearing their faces and lunging at her from out of the shadows in the dark of the catacombs far below. She told him about Gorion. She told him about how she had killed him … killed them all.

The Elf was wide-eyed and staring by the time she was done. She didn't say anything about Coran. She didn't want to – didn't need to. No one would remember him how she would. It was her burden to bear now.

"Gods have mercy …"

The other turned his head hurriedly away, gazing fiercely off into space. A hand reached up to swipe clumsily at his chin and mouth. His fingers were shaking.

He was abruptly turning back, and she recognized that same horrified look on his face that she remembered so vividly on Coran's at the sight of her the night before. A trembling hand reached up to her, and touched the side of her head.

"Are you …" he choked on the words his voice shook so much. "Are you alright?" It was pitiful, hollow. He knew just how useless that question must have been by the way he asked.

She just stared at him, her gaze calm and steady. "I'll be just fine." Her head bobbed ever so slightly.

"No …" His hand retracted instantly, almost as if it had been burned. "No." He looked away. "You cannot be."

"Xan?" she ventured softly, and the Elf rounded back on her with a hollow look in his brown eyes. Her head shook slowly from side to side.

"Don't worry about me."

She smiled encouragingly over at him – tried to. She wondered how much madder it must have made her seem just then.

But the other only let his eyes fall, barking a soft laugh. "A foolish thing to ask," he murmured. He twisted back away, face still grim. But she hardly stopped there.

"I'm going to end it," she continued quietly, still gazing hard at him. The Elf did not look.

"I want you to stay, Xan."

His mouth twitched. Her hand slipped down to take his.

"I want you to help me, Xan."

The other shook his head quickly, eyes flashing down toward his hand in hers.

"You will be the death of me," was all he said.

She just nodded her head, smiling grimly.

"I know."

_Me too_.


	71. Chapter 7 The Retreat

_**The Retreat**_

Something hissed loudly through the air, thrusting down into the ground. Dust exploded upward, scattering in the wind. Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks.

Xan leapt to one side, blue blade screaming free and already glaring beneath the sun as his eyes darted wildly about. Evelyn didn't move.

The Elf had twisted half about back behind the cover of the nearest tree. He stopped, though, when he realized that she had not done the same.

"Evelyn!"

He didn't waste a moment before all but pouncing on her to drag her out of the way. They were both wrenching about and out of sight.

Evelyn's back slammed back hard against the Elf's chest as he threw himself into bark. One arm still wrapped tightly about her, the other clutching his sword, he caught and held his breath. An eye shot back toward the ground where they had stood mere moments before.

The forest was quiet. Xan hardly seemed to care for that, though. He thrust his chin down past her ear.

"What were you thinking, Evelyn?" he demanded harshly, biting his tongue. His eyes were still angling about the trunk toward the still trees beyond. She only gestured slightly with her head.

"That he meant to miss."

The Elf stilled, and glanced sharply past her toward where an arrow stuck up out of the hard ground. Those brown eyes found hers.

"Kivan?"

Her voice rang out through the trees. It was the only sound aside from the gentle wind and ruffling leaves for a few moments. Then another answered her back.

"Come out."

It was familiar enough, as unwelcoming as it was just then. She was only happy that it had not been someone else – a hunting party from Candlekeep. They would have been looking for her by now. And she didn't feel quite like killing another handful or more of them just yet.

"Could you not have said something first, at least?" the Elven mage was grumbling a few moments later ahead toward the ranger as he picked his way out through the brush behind. "An arrow hardly seems fitting."

"No?" The other raised an eyebrow at them, sliding out easily from where he had been hidden. His expression did not change. "I did not know what to think. I still do not."

His eyes found Evelyn's. She met them evenly.

"Where are the others?"

The ranger stared at her for a moment, unwavering and hard. His gaze flashed toward the mage as he came up at her side, sheathing his blue blade. They returned to her.

"They are looking for you," he said simply.

"And you?"

He turned without another thought.

"I will take you to them."

Then he started away again into the woods, not bothering to look back to see if they followed. Evelyn felt the mage's eyes on her, but she didn't look either. Without another word, she followed.

They did not have far to go. The ranger pressed on through dense brush and crowded forests of gnarled oaks and pines, warding the strong sea breezes from their backs, and it quickly grew stifling there under the midday sun that peeked down through overhead. He said not two words more to them, barely bothering to glance back over his shoulder to make sure they were even still there the entire way. Xan was strangely quiet too. She could have wondered about that, but there were far too many other things to worry about already. She barely noticed. And it was not long before the ranger came to a halt.

Evelyn pushed on, finally catching up with him, the mage close on her heels. She came up short, however, when a blade slipped in behind them and prodded her abruptly in the ribs.

She leapt back, but the steel slipped in up under her chin, lifting it up. Another was facing the Elven mage down in the same instant, forcing him back as he tried to step in at her side. Kivan did not move.

Someone had slipped out from behind a tree, now holding two scimitars to either of the ones before him. As soon as Evelyn locked eyes on him, though, they fell swiftly back to his sides.

"E-Evelyn!"

Before she knew it, two lean arms had snatched her up and squeezed her tight, pulling her right up off her feet. She grunted against the sudden blow, but the other settled her back down on her feet quickly enough. He held her at arm's length, eyes wide in amazement.

"W-we … we thought we had l-lost you."

All at once, his face cracked just that much, and she could see the worry and fears etched there deep within. She had seen the same on Xan's face that morning. She had seen it on Coran's right before she had murdered him.

She just smiled right back at the other, straightening.

"You didn't."

Khalid didn't waste a moment. He took her one hand and was pulling her away and along behind him. He only spared the other two men a glance as he passed. They fell in quickly enough behind.

"J-Jaheira!"

The half-Elven man broke through into a small clearing soon after with her in tow, hardly bothering to hide his excitement as he dragged her along swiftly behind and toward the two women standing there beneath the shade of the trees at its other end. Neither the dark Rashemi nor the druid looked pleased as they both rounded on Khalid striding to meet them, irritation flashing across the faces of each. Whatever argument they had been having, though, died instantly upon their lips at the sight of Evelyn.

"Horns of Silvanus …"

The half-Elven woman blanched as if she were seeing a ghost. Even the darker-skinned woman's flesh paled a little, but she managed to hide it somewhat better. The druid hardly seemed to care to hide it.

It passed quickly enough. Suddenly the woman had closed the space between them, taking Evelyn by either shoulder and fixing her hard in both eyes. Those eyes scoured her fiercely, desperately.

"What happened to you?"

"I'm fine," Evelyn tried to say back, but the older woman had already pushed her gaze past her to the Elven mage beyond.

"The Hathran was just explaining to me how lacking she is in the arts of divination," the half-Elven woman stated briskly, flipping her mane of dark hair to one side. The Rashemi spared her a dark eye from one side. "I had thought to make use of you," she continued, Evelyn all but forgotten except for a firm hand holding her to one side, "but I see you have already taken the task upon yourself. I wonder why you did not see fit to include any of _us …_"

Evelyn looked over Jaheira toward Xan. His discomfort lasted only a moment there beneath the druid's baleful eyes. He stiffened, and stared her right back down. Kivan stood still as stone just beyond.

"What are you doing here?"

The half-Elven woman blinked, and rounded back on Evelyn. Some of the fervor bled out of her quickly enough at taking in the younger woman once more. She shook her head.

"The monk told us where we might find you. He was …" she hesitated for a moment. "He was the one who found your cell broken open and followed your trail to an old entrance into the catacombs."

There was a dark look in her eyes then – a worried, fearful look. It took Evelyn only a moment to realize that it was fear for _her_, fear _of_ her. She couldn't know just what they all thought.

And she didn't have to ask. All of a sudden, the brush to one side burst into a bright flash of pink.

"_EVE_!"

Each of them spun about only to see the familiar sight of Imoen speeding toward them. Her arms were out and already ready to pounce. Evelyn was the last to turn. And when she did … the other woman came up short.

That broad grin died instantly upon Imoen's lips. She actually swallowed when she caught sight of her best friend's face.

"Eve …" she breathed in disbelief. "You … you …"

"Look terrible."

Someone else was pushing through the tree branches out into the clearing after Imoen then. Evelyn looked up and recognized the curly-haired knight immediately, though his features were hard and grim, making it almost difficult. He strode out behind the pink-haired woman, and pushed past her, undaunted.

Imoen hardly had sense enough to give the man a sharp look. Ajantis didn't seem to have much concern for it just then anyways. He did not slow until he had pressed up between the druid and the Rashemi. He did not stop until he was standing over her.

For a moment, he said nothing. His face twisted, seeming to struggle with whatever was beating roughly at it from behind. He snuck a glance aside to the half-Elven woman. And then he was bearing back down upon her.

"Did you do it? Did you kill them?" was all he asked, nearly biting his tongue, his jaw was so tight. If she hadn't known any better, she would have expected him to spit at the ground at her feet.

She looked up at him, stiffening. She met his hard eyes easily with her own.

"No."

She knew now. She knew better. She knew the truth of it. She didn't have to doubt or lie anymore. It was the last thing Coran had given her.

The knight only bobbed his head, face still hard and heated. "Then how did you get free?"

She blinked up at him, frowning in surprise. Before she could open her mouth, however, he had already turned away. Imoen glanced after him as he strode past once more. He sat down on the opposite end of the clearing, took his blade in hand and started working it against a whetstone. He did not look at her. He did not look at any of them.

Imoen finally braved the last few steps forward, closing the space between them. She wrinkled her nose after a moment, reaching out to pick a finger at Evelyn's lavender coat.

"You smell terrible too."

That grin was back, for a moment. Her best friend avoided looking her in the eye, however. She turned slightly away.

"Who?" Evelyn rounded back slowly on the half-Elven woman. "Who told you where to find me?" The other only frowned.

"He did not say his name, only that you were in grave danger and we as well. We had to leave before the monks decided to blame us for your escape. A group of them had already entered the catacombs after you by the time we found out. We were fortunate to escape at all."

"Tethtoril," Imoen mumbled to one side. Evelyn blinked at her, hoping only that that was true. It was hard to imagine anything else.

The druid spared the pink-haired woman a glance, and nodded. "He helped us through the gates. He told us that there were secret entrances to the catacombs hidden outside the keep, but not where. It was our only chance to find you before the monks did."

Her eyes stabbed past the younger woman sharply then, once more at Xan.

"Until now … I had thought us all working together."

The mage didn't even spare her a glance. Evelyn looked away.

"Where is Minsc?"

She glanced about the clearing briefly, but she did not think the giant Rashemi hard to miss. He was the only one not present.

"Still searching for you, I would imagine," the druid spoke up at her elbow.

"He will be back soon," Dynaheir added softly.

Evelyn nodded her head. Then she looked back north – toward Candlekeep. She couldn't see it above the trees anymore. It was just as well.

"We have to go."

No one said anything. She turned back slowly around after a moment. Jaheira was waiting for her there with pursed lips and a dark eye.

"And where is it that you think we should be going?" She raised an eyebrow at the younger woman.

Evelyn didn't hesitate before telling her.

"Baldur's Gate," the druid snapped right back. She was shaking her head fiercely. "Why not just hand your head back to them on a platter!"

The younger woman frowned, but Khalid spoke up quickly beside them.

"They will be s-searching the roads."

"They will have already sent your description off to Baldur's Gate!" Jaheira scowled fiercely, folding her arms across her chest. "If you thought bounty hunters and cutthroats something to worry over, I doubt the whole of the Flaming Fist now after you should hardly be comforting!"

The druid continued on fuming for a few more moments. The younger woman only paid it half a mind.

"All the more reason to go," Evelyn offered simply when she was done. "Duke Eltan and Scar know enough about it. They can help us."

But Jaheira was already bearing down on her once more.

"Do you really think the Grand Duke or his pet guard commander care a whit about us?" those dark eyes were glaring. "They would turn you back out into the streets! _Kill_ you to eliminate any risks to themselves if they must. No, Evelyn," she shook her head, "you cannot go back there."

Evelyn only held her gaze for a moment more.

"You don't have to come with me."

She broke through that confining ring they had formed about her, Kivan and Xan not having said a word but still looming about her like some new prison. She saw her pack on the ground a few paces away, bundled up with her other things. She had long since begun to miss the comfort of a weapon.

"Are you not listening, child?" the half-Elven woman demanded heatedly of her as she came back to her feet, pack in hand. "That is the first place they will look! You would not make it one _day_ on the roads before they found you!"

She finished belting the Kara-Turian blade at her side, and then hefted the ashwood staff in hand. The other woman was almost seething. "Then I won't use the roads."

Jaheira growled deep in her throat. Her husband gave her a look, but it was Xan who spoke.

"What is so important about it, Evelyn?" he asked. "Why must you go back there?" His voice was soft, almost sad. It came far closer to stopping her than Jaheira's blazing anger did. "The Iron Throne is _dead_."

She paused, and leveled the Elven mage with a hard eye. That was it. "I didn't kill them," was all she said. She knew that well enough.

He nodded his head quickly, but kept on. "Is that what this has become now?" he demanded. "Revenge against those who _took_ your revenge?"

She glared at him. Kivan glanced briefly toward the man, and then at her. She glared at him too. He made it sound so … _petty_. So useless. He was trying to make her feel like a child.

"No." Her voice was cold, dead. "They didn't kill Gorion."

Imoen blinked up at her suddenly.

"What?"

"He will be there," she answered simply, still fussing with her pack. "That's where he's going. I know."

"What will you do? Swim?"

Evelyn came up short again, snapping around instead toward the knight where he still sat upon the ground some paces away. The man was shaking his head and muttering to himself, casting her wayward, dark glances. He caught her eyes full just then.

"Even if you _did_ manage to evade them on the roads, you would not make it past the front gates," he chided on crossly. "They will have a good start on you. By the time you reached the city the guards would be looking for you at every entrance." He glanced back down toward the ground and away, tearing free some blades of grass now to shred in his hands. "They would not just let a known murderer walk into their city," he finished softly at the last.

"It doesn't matter what happens to me," she breathed. She lied. Gorion knew. No one had heard her, though.

She paused, but then she finally turned away. There was no point in arguing, anyways. The others were still standing there, Jaheira bristling at their fore as Evelyn's eyes found hers once more. She caught brief sight of Dynaheir. A small, amused smile seemed to play across her lips.

Then she stopped. Evelyn glanced quickly about, unseeing. She blinked, and twisted back around toward the knight.

She had remembered something. Something that now seemed to terribly important.

"What about the docks?"

The man threw down the shredded grass in his hands, and then fixed her with a hard, merciless eye.

"What about them?"

She didn't meet his, though. Hers were darting wildly about, a sudden flurry of thought blocking everything else.

"They wouldn't be guarding _them_," she murmured, half to herself.

"They will if they have half the pride their city puts in them," Ajantis muttered after. She turned away on her heel.

"Not against_ me_. They'd expect me along the roads," she continued, barely loud enough to hear.

She had the scent now. She knew what she would do. It was the only thing she really _could _do.

"You said that," she jabbed a finger suddenly at Jaheira, and the woman blinked. "You said that's where they'd be looking."

The half-Elven woman only frowned, and gave her husband a furtive glance. The man shook his head slightly.

"But not the docks. Not by sea."

She looked up. There was a hulking shape looming out of the forest then across the small clearing, its eyes wide in surprise. Everyone twisted around towards it.

"Little Evelyn!"

The giant Rashemi paused for barely a moment before barreling towards her, arms wide and ready to scoop her up. She was already bouncing away on her feet, though, nodding her head frantically and pushing him from mind.

"It might be too late!" she growled fearfully down in her throat. Minsc came up short, Dynaheir giving him a sharp look, but Evelyn was already starting away. They almost didn't notice.

"Eve!"

But she was already charging forward. Without another word, she leapt back into the trees to the south, and vanished.

***

"There."

Evelyn followed the ranger's arm quickly with her eyes down to the rocky shoals below. Squinting, she could just barely make out the shapes moving about down there. Men.

"You found them."

She breathed the words almost in disbelief, but the Elf only gave her a grim nod.

"I said that I would if they were here. They are."

Evelyn only nodded her head back at him idly in response. She could hardly believe her good luck. Some of it seemed to have finally trumped out the bad.

She was quiet for a few moments, content to study those men moving about below. She could almost catch the sounds of their harsh voices on the gentle sea breeze even so far away. But the ranger was not about to let her be so for long.

"Now what will you do?"

She tore her eyes away for a moment, almost forgetting he was there. She gave him a brisk nod of her head.

"Go get the others."

The Elf turned instantly back upon his heel without argument, vanishing into the tree line behind. They were not so far behind that he would have far to go. But they had been slow.

Evelyn only fixed on that scene far ahead and beneath her. She could just make out that familiar ship in the distance. It brought a genuine smile to her face for once.

Kivan would not take long.

When they finally did catch up, it was Jaheira's thunderhead of a face that she turned to find. The woman picked her way eagerly out of the undergrowth and fixed Evelyn with a baleful glare. She looked somewhat less than pleased.

The others followed swiftly. Xan came quietly, the two Rashemi on his heels. Those were the only seemingly friendly faces to greet her. Imoen hardly looked any less worried than before, the knight striding boldly at her side, hand never far from his hilt as if he expected some sudden new attack. From the way his eyes met hers, undaunted and almost vengeful, she wondered if he didn't expect it from her. Kivan was as unreadable as ever.

The half-Elven woman didn't even spare her a word before edging past to see the shores beyond, her husband close beside. It took only a moment more before she was rounding swiftly back about upon Evelyn.

Jaheira didn't say anything. She just stared at the younger woman, brow furrowing and eyes still glaring. She glanced away and down again, then back to Evelyn. She settled on the boat in the distance last, and frowned.

"All this haste … for this."

The older woman shook her head. Already, Xan and Dynaheir had made their way forward to see, followed by Minsc. Imoen and Ajantis hung back, the knight still scowling.

Evelyn looked from one to another briefly, finally settling on Kivan. She knew the questions forming readily enough. She knew she hardly dared waste any more time for them. They had wasted enough.

Xan was the first to open his mouth, but she was already starting down. She caught the last vestiges of a fading smile on Dynaheir's dark lips. Then, she did not look back.

It didn't take very long for those men down on the shore to notice them. Evelyn hardly bothered to hide her steady approach down the rocky slopes with everyone else trying to catch up behind. She might have even stopped had she cared enough to be wary of a group of those men drawing blades and bows at the mere sight of her. They were shouting instantly for others, but no one made any move against her just yet. She briefly wondered if any of it would have been enough to stop her anyways. Probably not.

Boots crunching on dead seaweed, Evelyn finally reached the bottom, hardly slowing as she continued straight toward those men. One of them finally did work up the courage to do something then. He fired an arrow right at her.

It missed.

She came to a halt. The bowman already had another arrow nocked, and more had joined them. Jaheira and the others were only a few dozen steps behind.

"Stay where ye are, ya blasted devils or gods help me I'll send ye back where ye belong meself!"

A man was rattling a saber at her. At least a dozen more were pulling blades free behind him. More than that already had weapons free with faces grim. Evelyn glanced down at the arrow sticking out of the stinking mud and then back up at the sailor shouting at her.

"Captain Havarian?" she called out. That seemed to shut the men up for a moment. Just a moment.

"What in blazes would ye be wantin' with the Captain, then? Ye'll be havin' no more blood on this watch!"

No few of the other men added some jeering cries of their own. Their haphazard ranks had swollen to almost two dozen. The others finally came up behind her.

"Evelyn!" the druid hissed, all but seething. She briefly remembered the other yelling something at her as she scrambled down, but it hardly mattered anymore. Someone was pushing through those sailors' ranks.

"What in the Hells is going on here?" a man demanded irritably, silken smooth voice silencing all the others. "This hardly looks like another raid to _me_."

"We'll not be fooled again, Captain!" that man with the saber barked back. "Remember Kosten!" another shouted from somewhere else. A whole row of cries erupted in response. That one man tried to quiet them, but he came up instantly short when he laid eyes on Evelyn.

"You …" he breathed in surprise. The men about him quieted again almost instantly. His eyes were wide and hard. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, love? You all should have been to Candlekeep by now!"

Evelyn swept her eyes over the sailors, now as confused and surprised as their captain. She glanced back behind her, no few of the others looking none too pleased and wary. She finally settled on the captain.

"Saemon Havarian?" she called out once more.

"Aye?" the man bobbed his head numbly, and Evelyn forced a grin at him.

"We need a ship."


	72. Chapter 7 Broken Dreams

_**Broken Dreams**_

"You have my _sincerest_ apologies."

Captain Saemon Havarian wove easily back about behind the wooden desk jutting out from the bulkheads. There was a sealed metal flask there. He opened it, sniffed at the lid and started fumbling for a cup before he finally turned back to them.

"It is my terrible misfortune to only add further to your miseries with harsh words on behalf of my men." He started to pour some of that amber liquid from the flask into a crude wooden cup. "Their nerves have been a tad on end of late. Still, cannae be sayin' you look like any sea-witches to me. If you don't mind me saying so, love," he added hastily at the last with a tip of his cup.

"_Sea_ witches?" Jaheira was demanding curiously, settling both hands on one side of the desk. The man hadn't even gotten the cup to his lips.

"Aye, a nasty lot of devils too," Saemon bobbed his head. "Took no few of the men with their haunting charms in the night. Poison darts for those lucky enough to see the day. Sirens," he grunted, shifting back, "the sailor's bane … even ashore."

Evelyn stood just at the druid's elbow, listening. They had been the only two allowed to come along with the captain back to his ship – unarmed, of course. The others had stayed behind on the beach, under guard. And between what she had seen and what the captain was telling them, she might have even been worried. But she knew what she was doing. They would be fine.

Jaheira was giving the captain a piercing look while he drank. He eyed them both around his cup before letting it fall back down upon the desk.

"Very well, then," he began, leaning back as far as he could in that bolted chair. "To business."

Jaheira did most of the talking. Evelyn just sat back and watched quietly as she tried to haggle with the captain for passage for them all back to Baldur's Gate. It was almost amusing, listening to them both bait and jibe each other. Saemon kept aloof and claiming profitable pursuits elsewhere. Jaheira just tried to hold her ground.

"I have business to attend to here, as you can well see," the captain explained, grinning up at them lopsidedly as if he had not a care in the world just then. "Three men already lost on this little expedition. I have to reward the rest for their hard work _somehow_, or else they will think me a fool and unfit to captain this ship. A mutiny would hardly do your return voyage any good, now would it?"

"You will have our gold of course," the half-Elven woman chided sweetly. "What more could your men want than that?"

"Well, there would be the promise of a great treasure there, my dear. Certainly you can see the overwhelming lure of that?"

Jaheira only pursed her lips.

"You mean the lure of a treasure that has _yet_ to be found after _so_ much trouble – that more than likely does not even exist?"

The captain grated his teeth. "The harlot's map said it was _here_. She only made off on foot," he growled. "There is more hidden in that cave. Somewhere."

Jaheira bobbed her head, still pursing her lips almost thoughtfully. Her face glowed all too mockingly down at the other.

"Besides," the man continued quickly, "I shall have my investments in the south to think of. The shipment has already been delayed too long. It can hardly afford to be set back another _week_."

Jaheira kept at him, though. It might have almost seemed as if she were gaining the upper hand. But Evelyn knew better. The captain was adamant about that treasure to be found. A little gold from them was hardly enough to deter him no matter how his luck might have been faring. The druid's brave face could only do so much. Eventually, even she realized that.

"I believe we have said all that is to be said." Saemon stood. "Now, I will grant you safe passage back ta shore. I am afraid you will just have to make use of the roads. I do believe that is what they are there for."

Jaheira shot Evelyn a withering look while the captain straightened his coat, as if blaming her for all of it. She had never asked the other woman to come along, though, or to speak for her.

"This way, my dear ladies," Saemon gestured back toward the door with a hand. "And once more, my sincerest condolences for your troubles. If only I could be of greater service. Alas …" He almost made it sound sincere.

Jaheira was giving way reluctantly. For a moment, Evelyn almost thought she might have refused to move. The captain pressed up beside her, though, and started to gently guide her out.

A loud _thud_ brought them both immediately back.

Evelyn stood with her hand over the desk, a large purse slumped heavily against the wood. Both the captain and Jaheira were frowning at her in surprise, and she hardly wasted a moment. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a river of gold flowing out across the desk.

"Is this enough?"

She didn't even have to ask. The toothy grin that split the captain's face then was all the answer she would ever get.

* * *

An hour later, she stood alone at the aft of the ship, watching the Sword Coast dwindle into the distance. It hadn't taken the captain and his crew long to pack up everything and set sail once more. She knew that it wouldn't. The gold she had given him – the last of Coran's gift, all of it – had been enough to keep tempers toward Havarian cool. She hardly knew what treasure they had expected to find hidden there in the cove, but she gathered enough that the Calishite woman from before must have made off with it. Somehow, the captain didn't seem so surprised. That hardly mattered anymore, though.

She glanced up at the sky, and at the clouds gathering there. It would be dark soon, but it wouldn't rain just yet. The captain had assured her of that. He had also assured her that he could beat the coming storms back to Baldur's Gate. It was just as well for all that she was paying him. He seemed intent on keeping himself in her good graces at least. Which was more than she could say for most of the others.

Jaheira had retreated from her once more once they had finished with Havarian. She barely spoke two words to her, though the older woman spared her no few wary, calculating looks. Khalid had seemed far less averse, or at least he hid it better. Whatever it was, she didn't have the time or the patience to understand completely. She had finally told them the truth. And they doubted her more now than when she had believed the lies herself. Ajantis refused to even look at her. It didn't matter.

What might have hurt her more than any of it was Imoen. Her best friend in the world was avoiding her. She was afraid of her. Evelyn had seen it in her unusually subdued green eyes. Even the thought of it stabbed at her gut deep down inside and would not go away. It wasn't as if she was keeping any secrets from her. Imoen had her own. She remembered that light bursting from her hands that day back in the city with the Red Wizards. She knew what she was doing with Xan while no one cared to watch. It was dangerous. _She_ would be dangerous. Gorion would have been furious.

But that didn't matter. It didn't matter at all. Gorion had let something far more dangerous survive all those years. Far more dangerous than any of them could have believed. It could destroy them _all_ …

_No_ … no.

She steadied herself instantly, and it was gone.

It would never come to that. She swallowed it all back down where it couldn't hurt her.

"I'm sorry …"

She let her eyes drop for a moment, then they fixed back unflinchingly upon her old home falling away again into the distance. Twice now she had left it bloodied and battered. There was no one there to hear her. It didn't matter. It didn't matter at all.

She sighed.

She had to be ready. That was all that mattered now. If Gorion had let one demon escape, then he had certainly fallen prey to another. It was her responsibility to take care of both. That was all that mattered now. And she would be ready. She would do whatever it took.

It was some time later when she suddenly felt hands at her neck.

She whipped about instantly, one of her hands thrusting into the other's gut, the second snapping toward his face. She had been ready. But both eyes went wide when she caught sight of that face.

She caught herself, reeling the twin blows back instantly. They ended up doing little more than forcing the other to dance back a step with a sharp grunt. But it could have easily been worse. Much, much worse.

"What are you doing, Xan?" she demanded crossly in surprise, feeling more than a little unsettled. The Elven mage hardly looked any better, curling up and guarding himself as if he did expect some ultimate blow to come. It was another moment more before he could straighten himself back up to face her.

"I said your name," he gave her an almost flustered, defensive look. "You did not answer."

She stared at him, blinking. Then she glanced past his shoulder. Very few of the crew were left on deck and none of the others that she could see. It was much darker than she remembered too. The sun had already started to set.

She gave him one last dubious frown before nodding her head numbly. She started to reach back to where his hands had been, but he stepped in quickly and intervened.

"You'll only make it worse," he grumbled at her, and then started fidgeting with whatever it was on her back he had come for. She felt the lavender coat pulled aside and then the prick at flesh. She tried not to wince.

"You should have let the half-Elf look at this," he was mumbling over her shoulder at her. He forced her forward and over into the rail abruptly to get a better vantage. She grunted in surprise, but didn't bother to resist. "She would have seen to it, properly, I would imagine. But you most likely forgot all about it in light of everything else. You should be thankful it has not festered."

She knew what he was about now, but she didn't bother arguing with him. He wouldn't have understood had she tried. She just tried not to feel every poke and prod at raw flesh she couldn't see, and to forget just why that wound was there at all.

Soon enough, he had her out of the coat, though, not worrying a bit for the cold sea air, and she felt an even worse pricking than before. She didn't bother to ask. She didn't want to know.

"She seems to have taken enough exception to your behavior of late as it is, though," he was saying, she only paying him half an ear. "Fortunately, I saw to it enough last night, and it is a simple thing to finish now. I suppose you hadn't even noticed. _Crude_ … but passable."

He released her, and she stepped away, feeling fingers gingerly toward where she knew a gaping hole must have been. She found the torn flesh, alright, but some kind of tough lace was keeping it together. There was remarkably little blood.

She turned slowly back around to face the Elf. He had her coat waiting for her when she did.

"Thank you, Xan," she said simply, taking it back. The mage's lips only twitched upwards briefly in reply.

"Someone should be making certain that you do not kill yourself too rashly," he said. "You seem to be making a rather poor task of it yourself."

She bobbed her head slowly again, not bothering to think much more about it. The other did not leave right away, though.

"Was there something else, Xan?"

She gave him a cool, pointed look. He seemed to stiffen at that.

"Evelyn."

He was suddenly sober and grim. She only cocked her head to one side.

"What?"

He held that gaze, hard and searching. It lasted only a few, long moments. Then he was moving forward and past her. She watched as he stepped back toward the wooden rail, and slipped both arms up and across his chest. He did not look at her. Eventually, he spoke.

"You asked me what I would do when this was over," he began evenly, "when my … investigation was completed." His voice was cold, flat. It was almost like being interrogated. "What about you?" he continued. "What will _you_ do when it is finished?"

She didn't answer. He didn't give her a chance.

"What happens when you kill this man and avenge your foster father's death? When you have your vengeance? Because that is what this is, isn't it?" He glanced briefly back over his shoulder at her. "That is _all_ that this is. Vengeance … and nothing more."

She just shook her head slowly.

"So?"

"S … So?" the Elf suddenly rounded on her. "So? Evelyn," he almost pleaded, desperate, "has not this man done enough to you already?"

She held his gaze firmly for a moment, raising her chin. After another, he only shook his head and looked back away.

"No," he murmured. "No, I suppose he has not. You are still _alive_ after all."

He sighed.

"What is the point …?"

"What _is_ your point, Xan?"

He rounded back on her once more. She was waiting there with her arms folded imperiously across her chest. He sighed again.

"I kept something for you," he said, and held out a hand toward her. She looked at it. After a long, reluctant moment, she reached out to take what he held there.

"I have been enjoying it for a time," he added quietly, staring down with her as she unfolded that creased paper. "Lamenting it." His eyes suddenly shot up. "Perhaps it will serve _you_ some better."

He was slipping past her. She heard his soft steps fading quickly away even as she finally opened up the parchment. It was the picture he had drawn of her. She had forgotten it after that one morning back in the Elfsong Tavern. That familiar face was staring right back. Innocent. So naïve.

Evelyn glanced up, but the Elf was gone. She settled back on the picture instead, leaning forward against the rail once more. Memory washed over her for a few, long moments …

And then it was gone.

Her hand closed into a fist. The picture crumpled again along with it. She squeezed it tight, glaring out across the Sea of Swords back toward where Candlekeep had already long since faded into black. She thought she knew just what Xan had meant.

She reeled back, and threw.

The picture sailed silently away. She watched until the sea breeze took it and carried it down toward the waves below.

That girl was gone. Forever.


	73. Chapter 7 Waves and Blades

_**Waves and Blades**_

_Clack, clack, clack_.

"Good."

_Clack … clack, clack. Clack. Clack._

"Good. Faster."

_Clack, clack, clack. Clack … clack, clack._

"Better."

_Clack, clack, clack … clackclackclackclack._

"Mmph. Close …"

_Clackclackclack … clack … clackclackclack …_

"Care–"

… _Clackclack._

"Careful, child!"

_Clackclackclack._

She was.

She was spinning. Back around. Staff low. The other was already sweeping down to meet her. It was that very same mistake. This time, though, was different.

The oaken wood swung low. The ash should have kept on. The other should have met boot and calf and ended it. But it didn't. She didn't. Instead, ash was right there to meet oak.

Evelyn stabbed the butt of her staff hard into the ground, and the oak struck hard against it … and stopped. It should have taken her off her feet. It should have left the younger woman sprawled out on her back and ended it right then and there. But it didn't. She didn't. And then the ashwood was flashing up into the druid's face.

If the other woman had been surprised, it hardly slowed her. The butt of Evelyn's staff just missed as Jaheira snapped her head back. The oaken one came up to meet it, but Evelyn was already dancing away.

Jaheira paused for a moment, blinking. She let her staff down for a moment, and brought a hand up to finger her chin. It came away with blood.

The other woman's lips twitched upwards into a smirk at Evelyn then. "Perhaps not so predictable as before." Evelyn just kept her face smooth.

Jaheira wasn't smiling for much longer.

Evelyn came at her. Thrusting, spinning, whirling. High, low, around the flank, back again, up, down, and straight through her center. The druid stayed ahead of her, weaving and blocking and leaping about. Whatever that friendly bout was supposed to have been at first, it became something far angrier soon enough.

The aft deck wasn't crowded, but there was hardly enough space for it all to last long. She chased the older woman about the rigging, dodging ropes and thrusting in between cables. Sailors yelled at them for getting in the way. Evelyn didn't listen. And the druid met her fury with a cold, merciless fervor of her own. All too many times a hasty duck or roll saved her nose from being smashed back into her face and bleeding on the deck. It was playful despite that, though, arrogant – as if the other was merely facing a child and already knew of just what she was capable. But she didn't. She didn't know anything at all. None of them did.

She was fast, but Evelyn was faster. She was strong, but Evelyn was stronger. She shouldn't have been. That throbbing fervor pulsed through her veins, singing deep in her skull and resonating all throughout her body. It suffused her limbs, forcing them faster and faster. And through it all, through all the fire and fury and blind, thundering hate … Evelyn stood at its center, cold and calm and terrible. That storm just raged on all about her. _She_ was in control.

The druid slowed. Evelyn swept in, staff spinning. The oak caught it instantly, before it could strike. The other wrenched it up and over, twisting away. Jaheira brought them both down swiftly to the deck, trapping the ashwood tight.

That was it.

Jaheira glanced up at her, that same ghost of a smile back on her lips. She had won. She knew it. She had expected it all along.

It only lasted a moment.

Evelyn's hand came up, slamming hard across the other woman's jaw. Her forehead crashing into skull followed just after.

They both stumbled back, Jaheira clutching at her head with one hand, the other dragging her staff. Evelyn managed to keep her eyes steady, watching even as her body threatened to topple. She had lost the ashwood. It didn't matter.

All at once, she was rushing the other woman, no sound but her swift boots on deck sounding as she quickly closed the space between them. Jaheira blinked up at her through the pain, and the oaken staff came instantly up. Evelyn wove right around it. It was too slow.

Whirling about, her fist swept up, making another pass at the druid's skull. This time she blocked it, though, throwing her own arm hastily up. Evelyn's wrist snapped instantly around, snatching that arm. She bent low, and the druid came tumbling over her back.

A hand snaked up into the air and Evelyn had the oaken staff before it could touch ground. It almost seemed to float right into her grasp. Then it swung down to where the other woman was now sprawled out on her back. The butt came swiftly down to rest against her neck.

And that was it.

Jaheira blinked up, shaking her head and coughing. She pushed the end of her own staff away and struggled up. Khalid was suddenly there at her side, helping her. She tried to push him away too, but the man held fast.

"I am _fine_."

Evelyn watched silently as the other woman rose back to her feet. She handed the oaken staff back, the druid snatching it up irritably. She didn't say anything, just shot the raven-haired woman a withering look before twisting away. She stalked swiftly away and back down below deck. Khalid stayed behind.

"Will she be alright?" Evelyn asked simply as she moved to retrieve the ashwood from where it was now rolling about the deck. The Sea of Swords had grown choppy enough that morning, and she supposed she owed some thanks to Jaheira for that at least. She had been kind enough to produce more of that bitter drink before being pummeled.

"She will be. I do not b-believe she thought m-much of your choice of t-tactics, th-th-though."

She stood.

"And you?"

The half-Elven man gave her a quizzical look. "I d-do not think it a-always matters."

Evelyn just nodded her head quickly to herself.

"Good."

It did not stop there. It was hot, and balmy, there on deck beneath the sun and clear ocean skies. But she had barely broken a sweat with Jaheira. Her body was still humming with untapped strength and force. And Khalid did not take much convincing at all.

There were no rules. There wasn't even the _illusion_ of rules as there must have been for Jaheira. They played with the practice blades Ajantis had made for her, and so long as it was only wood and bruises, no trick seemed too terrible for the half-Elven man.

They played at blade versus blade. They played at blade versus staff. They played at staves and daggers, two daggers on blade, two blades against staff, and no few times even barehanded and wrestling when they had both lost their weapons. The daggers were easy enough as stubs of wood, but they slowed whenever steel came free. They played at every combination of weapons the other seemed capable of creating, and he barely held back from letting her feel every blow. It was too easy, though. It was still too easy.

Hours stretched on into afternoon. Soon enough they were both battered and bruised and bleeding in no few places – Khalid had all but broken his jaw and she kept swatting away blood from her forehead – and still they kept on. Evelyn started to begrudge the man their intermittent breaks, feeling her body grow all too restless when forced to still. It wanted more. It didn't want to stop – not until one or the other was lying flat and broken and would never rise again. But she kept it under control. She controlled it. Behind an impenetrable wall of cold, calm, calculated certainty – she controlled it. It was more focus than she had ever achieved before in her entire life. The same, however, could not be said of Khalid.

The man tired, and she hardly slowed. Soon enough, he was forced to stop – when he could barely put up any challenge whatsoever to her anymore. That might have been the end of it, when he finally stepped down and away. Fortunately, for her, he was not the only one watching.

Kivan was there. Minsc too. She might have thought that strange, but she glimpsed Dynaheir standing off somewhere close as well. Both men stepped in at varying points to make up for Khalid. And she didn't let either go easy with her for long.

The Rashemi was far slower than her, but he more than made up for it with raw strength. He could hardly have used his giant sword against her of course, but they did slow their pace a few times so that she could tentatively see just what she would do against it – mostly just avoiding its reach and not bothering to waste time blocking it at all until she could get close. It wasn't easy, though Minsc still hardly dared use anywhere near his full strength against her. She could tell that much at least easily. Dynaheir gave him no little encouragement from aside.

The ranger was a different story. Kivan might not have matched the Rashemi in brute force, but he was not so far behind either. Certainly stronger than her, and all too quick and agile whenever he needed to be too. She was able to hold her own well enough against him with one of the practice blades, but he had her on the run all too quickly with daggers. No few times, when he managed to get hold of her, she found herself sailing through the air and tumbling away across the deck. He never struck her, though, not directly. Whenever she got close, he would only force her abruptly and violently away.

Some of it finally started to wear her down.

"You are doing a little better than before," he told her at one point. It was all he said to her during all of their bouts. Except for the familiar chastising remarks he made whenever he seemed to disapprove of her form. She never said anything back, though. It was just as well.

Kivan left abruptly when he was done. It had already begun to grow dark by then. The sailors up about on deck weren't paying her much heed anymore. She had already tired as a spectacle long ago.

Dynaheir gathered Minsc up soon after. The giant Rashemi seemed almost reluctant to go, but the Hathran was firm. She gave Evelyn a thoughtful look before turning away – thoughtful, but there was concern there too. It was hidden deeply enough. And then she was alone.

Evelyn gathered up her things and put them aside. Then she crossed to one side of the deck to let the cooling sea breeze work its full force against her. She had more than worked up a sweat over the past few hours. She was sore, bloodied, and bruised all over, and finally tired. Just then, it was actually nice to stop moving and just … rest.

She could have understood Dynaheir's concern. Could have … but the Hathran didn't understand. She didn't know. This wasn't just about Gorion anymore. It wasn't even just about her. But she had a part to play. A big part. She understood that now. Gorion had known. He had always known.

And never told her. He could have.

No. It didn't matter. Sarevok Anchev had tried to break her. And maybe Coran was right. Maybe he had driven her mad. But it didn't matter. She knew what she had to do, and she knew just how impossible it would be. She had to try. She had to be ready. She just prayed that it was the last thing she had to do. It certainly would be, one way or another.

Jaheira's wounds would heal. It was mostly her pride, Evelyn supposed, anyways. And so would Khalid and Imoen and Xan. They were strong. Coran would be avenged. Yeslick already had his vengeance. It had been by another's hand, but he could still rest easily enough. Gorion would have his. And so would she.

* * *

"Finished so soon?"

Evelyn twisted about in surprise, startled by that voice out of the growing darkness … only to find the curly-haired knight looking grim and staring her down from several feet away. He held both practice blades in his hands, roughly fingering the bruised wood. She hadn't even heard him come.

She was still on deck. She had lost her sense of time while she had just breathed quietly for a while. She didn't bother to answer him.

"By the looks of it," he just muttered on loudly, "I would have thought to see the Captain's men tossing bodies overboard by now." There was no jest in it. And as his eyes roved about, scouring her still every few moments, his scowl only grew deeper. "I had hoped you could still tell friend from foe."

She eyed him back, frowning and unsure just what to make of anymore of what he said. Ever since she had escaped the catacombs beneath Candlekeep, the man had been cold toward her, almost rude. Before, it had been hard enough keeping him from tripping over her every time she turned around. Maybe it was some perverse turn in his courting ritual. She didn't know. But what she did know was that she didn't care for it, didn't care for it at all.

She finally thought up something biting enough to say back. But before she could, the knight had hefted one of those practice blades in his hand and all but hurled it at her head. She caught it in one hand.

"Let's see just what you have learned," he said coolly. Then he sketched a terse bow, "My lady." He crouched low.

Evelyn stared at him for a moment. Only a moment. Her jaw tensed. As exhausted as she was, she was sure there was something left in there to match the knight's attitude. If he wanted another beating … well, for once, at least, she supposed he actually deserved it. And she was all too happy to oblige.

Ajantis had not been on deck all day that she had seen. Neither had Xan or Imoen, but she was sure she knew just what they were about. Whatever had been stewing in the knight's curly-crowned head, however, seemed to have finally come to a boil. And it exploded out at her with blinding speed and fury just then.

She was tired. Her strength had ebbed considerably during practice all day. Ajantis hardly seemed to notice himself, though. In a handful of moments, he had her pushed back and struggling just to keep him at bay. He used everything he had taught her and more, tricks with his blade and hands coming at blinding speed for her. He didn't bother to hold back at all, and he hardly kept it to mere blades either. A few well-placed kicks and she was somehow just managing to stay on her own two feet.

He wore no armor. She took advantage of that, breaching his defenses a few times with some choice blows from her own feet, hands, and practice blade. It all did little more than slow him, though, and she quickly began to think that it was only his overwhelming fix on the assault and breaking her down that made him so careless. It didn't last long.

She stabbed in at his side. He parried it and riposted up her blade. Only a hasty duck kept her from being smacked in the face. Even so, his free hand was waiting for her when she popped back up.

He snatched up the front of her coat and suddenly she was tumbling back and down against the side of the deck. She landed on her elbows, forcing herself up only to see his blade sweeping down. Hers thrust up hastily in reply. He batted it aside and then beat her hand all in one swift motion. Before she knew what had happened, she had lost the blade and was clutching desperately at her wrist as the knight swept in. He stopped just inches from her face. She flinched.

Evelyn sat there then, breathing hard and eyes fixed on the two feet of wood thrust between them. Ajantis met her coolly with his own dark gaze, and then tapped the end of the blade to her neck.

"Dead," he uttered.

She looked up at him, eyes fierce and raging to meet his own now. He pulled the blade back just a little.

"I promised to protect you, Evelyn," he began softly, his voice dark and warning. "Even from yourself if need be. There are enough enemies out there who would break you without a second thought without you doing the same to yourself. We all must be vigilant. Always."

He stood from his crouch, still looking down at her. His face was still grim as she followed it up with heated eyes. Then it hardened even more.

"You will not shed an ounce more of innocent blood," he told her, gesturing with the wooden blade back down at her throat. "Remember this moment, Evelyn. And remember that it will not end so well for you should you allow there to be a next time."

And that was it.

Without another word, he turned and stalked away, vanishing back below decks. And Evelyn was alone once more.

She picked her aching body carefully back up, kicking away her fallen blade and the one Ajantis had dropped for good measure. Then she chased it down, snatched it up, and hurled it after him, screaming. He was long gone, though. It bounded loudly away across the deck.

She didn't bother to listen to whatever it was those few sailors left on deck might have shouted at her then. She just started stomping along down below deck as well.

It was dark. She was sure, though, if she looked hard enough, she could have seen that familiar red glow throbbing about her hands as she trudged away below. Only she seemed to ever know it was there. If there ever was a next time, she knew, the knight would have to make sure he ended it more quickly than that. Otherwise, it would not end so well for him either.

No. No, it wouldn't.


	74. Chapter 7 Burning Sails

_**Burning Sails**_

"And there she is."

The captain pushed up between Evelyn and the ranger at the prow, edging over the rail. He gazed forward at the sprawling harbor ahead, the dingy landscape of timber and slate, crowded merchant ships and jostling, squat and swollen buildings. And then he grinned over at her.

"As beautiful as always, love."

He clapped a hand to both their shoulders, and pushed back away, already shouting at some of his men about the sails. Kivan grunted.

"He is there," was all he said, his jaw tense. Evelyn glanced over at him.

"Tazok?"

That familiar creak of leather as the Elf wrung his hands about the rail was all the answer she got for a moment. Then he canted his head.

"Yes." He started to shake his head slowly. "He will not escape this time."

Evelyn looked away. Then she nodded gently.

"We'll find him."

"Down the mast, lads! Bring 'em down!"

The captain was ambling quickly about the deck, hollering at the top of his lungs. "Nice and easy, Beckett! Bring her in nice and easy!"

Evelyn glanced back over her shoulder briefly before turning back to the docks just ahead. Jaheira and Khalid had come up on deck, Ajantis too. Havarian barely noticed as they wove the Widower slowly forward through that tangle of ships into the grand harbor of Baldur's Gate. The half-Elven woman did not hesitate before stalking up behind them.

"Hmph. We have finally arrived it seems," she stated tersely from beside Evelyn, not bothering to look at her. "Captain Havarian has been as good as his word at least. Let us hope it was not for nothing."

The older woman finally gave her a hard eye. She could feel it like a blow to the side of the head. And then she briskly strode back away. Khalid's look was far more generous.

"W-we are still with you, Evelyn."

She gave him a small smile of gratitude. He canted his head perfunctorily in response. Then he turned away as well. She could feel Ajantis' eyes boring into the back of her skull.

"That should do for now, lass," the captain was saying a few minutes later, clapping his hands together from behind and rubbing them briskly. "Now, I'll see you back on dry land quickly, and try to see about avoiding the port authority's tax."

He gave her a wide, charming grin over steepled hands. She just nodded her head right back.

It didn't take them long to disembark. A few minutes later and Evelyn was standing with the others on the dim, early morning wharves of Baldur's Gate – the one place in all the realms no one could have expected her to be just then. She pulled the hood of her cloak up and down just the same. Kivan caught the motion beside her.

"News from the library could not have traveled so quickly," he said, his voice low. Then bobbed his head. "Good that you think not to take any more foolish chances."

She frowned at him as he looked back away. Still, he was right. Finding Saemon Havarian and his ship had been a stroke of pure luck in evading whomever her old home might send after her trail. She was still a murderer in their eyes – the eyes of the law, even if she now knew them to be wrong. Baldur's Gate was not the safest place to be, no. But if she was quick, she could end it all before any of her mistakes could even catch up with her.

And that was why she could only feel restless as she was forced to wait. Havarian had run off ahead of them, saying he had to speak with the harbormaster or something of the like quickly before leaving. He had told them to wait.

She wasn't sure just what else he could need of them. It certainly hadn't been so much trouble to leave him down south on the way to Candlekeep. Maybe he wanted to see her off well after all the gold she had given him. Maybe. She didn't know. She thought she could bear it, though, for a little while at least. His ship would undoubtedly need to restock before sailing, and having a ship's captain owe her a favor might prove useful again soon enough. If things took a turn for the worse in the city with what she had to do in it, he could help Jaheira, Imoen, and the others escape at least.

Yes. It would all work out. She just kept reminding herself of that. Gorion had put all of his trust in her. He had given his _life_ for her. It was too much for her to fail. She wouldn't. But she was hardly alone.

"What are we waiting for?" a voice asked softly at her side. She glanced over to see Xan standing there. He caught her eyes with a pointed look.

"Need I remind you that you are a wanted criminal, Evelyn? Whatever you intend to do now, I should hardly think wasting time here in the open will help."

"Their messengers could not have moved so quickly," Kivan muttered at her other side for her in response. "No one here will know her name or face. Yet." Still, she noticed, his eyes did not rest for a moment on the thin, morning crowd.

Evelyn didn't answer either of them. There were few enough people about the wharves at that hour – mostly laborers. They did stand out. But Kivan was right.

She stiffened. She would only give Saemon another minute.

And that minute was barely up before the captain strolled unhurriedly back into view.

"Gentlemen! And ladies …" he sketched an elegant bow even as he moved steadily toward them. "So sorry to keep you waiting, you have my _sincerest_ apologies. But it is long past time we parted ways."

"And none too soon, Captain," Jaheira chided as the man passed, casting a dubious eye after. "I should be thankful that we do not cross paths again."

Evelyn shook her head, scowling. But Havarian hardly seemed to take offense at the woman's tone. He paused, and glanced back briefly. "I would not dare count on it," he dipped his head quickly, "my dear lady.

"Now," he finally stopped just beyond them at the edge of the docks, "I have some long overdue merchandise to attend to." He cast another eye over his shoulder. "I am sure you have your own troubles to deal with. If you will kindly excuse me." He started hastily toward the plank leading back up to his ship. Evelyn blinked in surprise.

"Why did you need me to wait?" she demanded after him instantly, taken aback that he would hurry off so quickly just like that. The man barely slowed his stride.

"Oh, quite sorry about that," he called back, still moving up and away. "Nothing, love, nothing at all!"

She only took a hasty step after him.

"Evelyn!"

"How long will you be staying?" she persisted, ignoring Kivan's warning grunt. The captain didn't even bother to answer. An elbow nudged her hard in the side, and a hand pulled her back.

"Far longer than he expects, I am afraid."

Saemon Havarian stopped dead in his tracks. Evelyn twisted instantly back about. Kivan's hands had already let her go and flown up.

A lone man stood just ahead of them across the docks – a man in bound chain and dark coat, a plumed helm tucked into the crook of one elbow and hand on hilt at his side. He was Flaming Fist, that much was obvious, and she did not need to look twice to know he was familiar. But that was all she needed to know.

The ranger had an arrow already to his cheek with barely more than a word. He held it for only a moment. Then that other was waggling a finger at him.

"Ah, ah," he warned simply, and Evelyn hissed her own warning at his elbow. Her face was hidden, and they could not have known. That man was not there for her.

But then there was motion at both corners of her eyes. She wrenched them first one way and then the other, but it didn't matter. It was the same for both.

"We would not want to spill any more blood today than is necessary …"

Flaming Fist poured in on all sides of them, dashing from the cover of crates and barrels and flitting between them until two dozen blades and bows were readied and trained on each of the men and women standing there at the edge of the docks. Steel was whipping free from Khalid's side, Minsc's and Xan's in response. She could hear the familiar creak of bowstrings being drawn back. It was almost deafening. Kivan did not even flinch.

"I am afraid you will be coming with me," the lead officer continued calmly. "All of you."

"What is the meaning of this, Lieutenant?" Jaheira abruptly stepped forward, one of the only ones without a weapon brandished in her hands. "What are we accused of? If you are here for Captain Havarian, then we have nothing to do with him other than ferrying passage."

Evelyn blinked, remembering. That man was Dosan – Lieutenant Dosan. Scar's lieutenant. She let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Oh, I think you know well just what you are accused of," the lieutenant continued, his men still trained to fire at his word. "And as far as the good Captain …"

"You have your murderers, my good sir," Havarian suddenly called out from atop that ramp. Some of his crew had begun to poke their heads over the side of the deck to see just what was going on. "Now all will be right and well, and I will not take up anymore of your precious time. If you will kindly excuse me–"

"Smuggling, racketeering, theft of private city property, kidnapping, complicity to conspiracy on – not one – but _three_ separate occasions," Dosan kept on, unperturbed. "Resisting arrest … burglary, larceny, _petty_ larceny, and," the lieutenant gave him a chiding look, "accessory to murder after the fact. Did I miss anything – _Captain_?"

Saemon only threw his hands up placatingly. "Now, now, just wait a moment …I had not the faintest idea that they were murderers when I took them aboard. Besides," he barked a shaky laugh, "you have them as good as in custody now. Be reasonable."

Jaheira whipped instantly back about. By the force in her eyes Evelyn saw just then, the captain should have already been flying halfway back across the harbor.

"Even _after_ you had our gold," the druid hissed back at the man.

"Yes, well … you forgot to mention that little bit about murdering the head merchants of some guild hall on hallowed ground or some such rot, love. I'm afraid that would have changed the buying price – considerably. Besides," Havarian arched an eyebrow at her, "I brought you here, did I not?"

"Scoundrel! You _filthy_ wretch!" Jaheira half started to leap at the man, hands out like claws to tear at his throat. Khalid snatched her back, though, and held her fast. "The mother will have your heart for this!"

Ajantis glanced calmly back over his shoulder, his face hard and set. Evelyn just barely caught his words. "I should have known." A hand strayed down to the hilt at his side.

"You see?" Havarian was shouting. Imoen looked back to Evelyn briefly, her eyes wide and worried. "And that is precisely why we must now be parting on such unpleasant terms. I've never had the stomach for these kinds of manners. Or assassins." Her best friend slipped a hand into her coat.

"Be ready," Kivan uttered softly at her side. She blinked up at him, but he was looking pointedly past her toward Xan. The other Elf mirrored the grim look on his face with one of his own, glanced toward Evelyn briefly, and nodded his head. She saw his lips begin to move as he looked away.

"Actually, only one of them has been convicted of murder," the lieutenant butted back in leisurely. "Though the others are undoubtedly involved and soon to be tried as well." Three more men had appeared beside him, all at the ready and unflinching. One of them, at least, Evelyn recognized instantly.

Jaheira was still glaring daggers between the lieutenant and Havarian. Khalid had let her go. The docks suddenly grew quiet, and Evelyn might have almost missed the subtle motion of Khalid's scimitar dipping low or Minsc's knuckles suddenly turning white. Somehow, Ajantis' shield now hung free from one hand.

Dosan unhurriedly took a pair of leather gauntlets and began tugging them up his arms. Those arrows were still trained and steady, bow strings creaking in the early morning. Everything seemed to tense.

In a moment, she knew … it would all suddenly burst.

"Wait!"

Evelyn abruptly cried out, half-expecting arrows to suddenly riddle the air to the death knell of a chorus of cracking strings. It didn't, though, and she threw both her hands up.

"Wait!" she called out again, already starting forward. The lieutenant glanced up curiously at her.

She pushed past and through the others, Kivan hissing after her. Her cowl came down from around her face in both hands. She was gone before he could snatch her back, and she did not stop until she was standing right before the lieutenant. No few of those bows followed her. For the moment, she tried to ignore them.

"Take me," she told him quickly. "I killed Rieltar, Brunos, and Thaldorn – they had nothing to do with it. They didn't know. You can have me, just … just let them go."

"You _fool_ girl!" Jaheira hissed at her. Imoen took a hasty step up beside.

"Eve, NO!"

The lieutenant raised a curious brow up at them all.

"Yes, take the girl," Havarian shouted over them. "She is offering herself _freely_ after all …"

Imoen had already started forward as Evelyn turned back around. She could see Kivan and Xan still tense and readied beyond. Khalid and Minsc too. Even Ajantis gave her a warning, anxious look. She only raised a hand.

Her best friend stopped dead in her tracks. Evelyn tried not to think about those bows following the other woman as she forced a comforting smile to her face.

"I'll be alright," she lied. Imoen's face only fell. "_Go._"

She did not move, though. None of them did. It grew silent again. Evelyn turned back toward the lieutenant.

"I'll go," she told him once more, "just don't–"

Someone was moving. All at once shouting sprang up everywhere. Arrows followed it quickly enough. And then Evelyn was twisting back about, screaming.

It was not the others they had been aiming at, though. Instead her eyes flashed instantly after the fleeing form of the captain, flying away back up the ramp, arrows hurtling after.

Something struck Evelyn on the back of the head before she could even blink, and she went down. She just barely caught herself on her elbows before she got a mouthful of dank, rotting wood. That shouting abruptly rose in pitch and fervor followed by the sharp, piercing twang of more arrows suddenly loosed. It all faded back into dull echo in her ears.

"HAVARIAN!"

Two crisp boots stepped past her sight, barking aloud across the wharves. She swallowed back tears and tried to look up.

"Stop him." the lieutenant pulled one of those other Flaming Fist close. "Stop him!" And then he threw the man ahead of him. He was stabbing a hand vengefully away. "Take them! Kill them all!"

More screaming. A man pitched over beside her, and did not stir. She blinked up, seeing Dosan suddenly slip his blade free and leap away at someone. Then that familiar one-eyed face was bearing down on her.

"Sorry, lass."

A heavy fist came crashing down, and everything went black.


	75. Chapter 7 Strange Bedfellows

_**Strange Bedfellows**_

It was still dark when she finally came to.

The first thing Evelyn noticed was the feel of sleek wool and the dull throbbing in her head. The next was the dank air that caused her to shiver even through the thick of her coat. The last … was the touch of something soft brushing the side of her face.

She blinked open her eyes. At first, she couldn't see anything in the deep gloom that greeted her. She squinted, but it was still too dark to make out much of anything. That was when she felt that thing rubbing along her temple once more.

She started, but something held her fast. Her head twisted frantically about, but she caught only shadows in the night. That thing closed down on the side of her face and the grip squeezed tighter. She started thrashing violently there in the dark.

"Evelyn!"

A voice hissed in her ear. She stopped flailing instantly.

"Xan?"

She blinked fiercely up at the sound of that familiar voice. Her eyes still caught nothing in the dark, though. She could feel his soft breath on her face not inches away.

"What happened? Where are we?" she started glancing furiously around anew, desperate for some sight of anything. But it was black. Pitch black.

"Keep your voice down."

She fixed back instantly on him. "What? What happened? Tell me."

He had had her propped up against him in the dark, and she pushed away, but hardly got far before cold, dingy stone scraped at her side. It was a wall, she quickly realized, feeling out with both shaky hands against it. She could hear the Elf shifting behind her.

"They took us," he murmured softly so that only she could hear. She looked back to him quickly.

"Who?"

But she didn't have to ask. Memory suddenly came flooding back to her.

Her eyes blinked up against the black. That unseen place was cramped, dank. The stone all around was slick and smelling all too sour. It was a prison. It was even worse than the one back home. No one would be saving her from this one.

She slumped back, fighting the sudden nausea that tried to claw its way up her throat. She stuffed it back down, angrily, and swallowed.

"What happened to the others?" Somehow, her voice was steady. It was almost too much to ask. And it seemed an eternity before the Elf even answered.

"I do not know."

She nodded her head simply, though he couldn't have seen it. She couldn't have expected much. A finger reached out gingerly to touch the welt on her head. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he answered quickly enough that time. "I let them take me."

She blinked up at him. He sighed.

"It was obvious enough that we stood no chance. I would not have left you behind, Evelyn."

She shook her head, though, and closed her eyes. Maybe he was one of the lucky ones then. But she just shook her head once more, squeezing tighter. Somehow, it was all the easier to withstand that impenetrable gloom behind her own eyes than that of the cell. It was hers to control.

"He betrayed us," she spat, twisting aside.

"What?"

"He betrayed us," she repeated, glancing up. "Havarian. He led them right to us and left us to die. All of them." She bit back an angry oath, feeling her face suddenly twist. There were tears burning at the corners of her eyes, but she forced them vengefully aside. "This is all his fault."

It made it easier to pour all of her rage out at that scheming smuggler just then. She had started it. But her anger needed somewhere else to go. It was easier.

"If he had not drawn their arrows when he did," the Elf was saying quietly, "we would all be dead."

She blinked up at him, aghast that he could even think to defend the man. She opened her mouth to snap at him, but someone else abruptly cut in.

"There would have been no _need_ to dodge arrows at all had he just let us go on our way in peace."

Evelyn looked away. She still couldn't make anything out in the dark. But she recognized that chiding voice quickly enough.

"Ajantis?"

A loud grunt was her only answer.

"Where are you?" she whispered again after a moment, eyes darting about. She had her hands stretched before her in the dark, searching. They came up against metal bars soon enough.

"Right where they left me," the man muttered back. "Right where this foolishness has gotten us _all_."

She pulled herself right up to the bars, keeping her voice low. "Are any of the others here?"

There was no answer.

"Are you hurt?" she ventured anew after a moment.

Eventually, she heard the knight's voice again.

"I will live," was all he said for a few moments more. Then he added, "Do not worry about the Captain … His ship was in flames and trying to limp out of the harbor last that I saw. He is Umberlee's problem now."

Evelyn slumped just a little. It didn't really matter.

"The others?" she asked the knight once more. The man only grunted again.

"Dead," he offered grimly. "I had other concerns."

She looked away, eyes wide and staring blankly into the dark. _Dead?_ she thought in disbelief. It was impossible to wrap any part of her mind around that one word. _All of them?_ She started to shake her head, violently. Khalid … Kivan_ … Imoen_ … her best friend …

_No_ …

It was her fault. It was _all_ her fault. She never should have brought them in the first place. She never should have let them come with her. She never should have trusted Havarian. She never should have waited. She never should have …

No. There were a lot of things she shouldn't have done. There were a lot of things she never should have done. But there was nothing for it now. Her head twisted to one side, wrenching hard against it all. She suddenly felt sick. So very, very sick.

Doubt could only slow her down. A part of her snapped that right back at her. She could feel the bile in her throat. She almost threw up. And then it melted away to cold anger slowly instead.

She would not be weak. _Could _not be weak.

_Not Imoen_ …

Sarevok Anchev had no doubts.

She stifled a sob.

It was obvious enough what had happened. Scar's lieutenant had betrayed them – had betrayed _her_ … even after she had surrendered herself freely. She hadn't the faintest idea how the man could have cornered them so quickly. Saemon certainly hadn't left them long enough to run back to the Flaming Fist compound. But it didn't matter much. Anymore. They had their murderer safely behind bars once more.

It was over.

She shook her head slowly, easing herself down to the ground with her back to the bars. She couldn't feel anything now, though – no anger, no fear. She wouldn't let herself. She needed to stay strong. The time would come, later.

"What about your magic?"

Her voice whispered again across the cramped cell as she glanced up. She couldn't be sure, but she felt the Elf's eyes on her in the dark.

"Of little use, I am afraid," he told her evenly. "They saw well my spells before. The cell is warded. Simply enough. It would not hold Elminster, but … _I_ am not Elminster."

She let her head sag back, a lopsided grimace twisting her face. She had known the answer well enough even before she'd asked. The Elf would have done something already by then if he could – he was not daft or slow. He was not Elminster … but she thought she preferred him a bit more. The old wizard had hardly bothered to share any of her troubles, or even help.

She rolled the back of her head along those bars. A little light would have done so much for her just then. If only she could have seen what was still left of her world. It was enough, though, that she had not been left alone.

"I'm sorry, Xan," she said instead after a time. She could have almost imagined his handsome face nodding grimly there through the black.

"I know."

* * *

"RIAAAAAAHHHHHhhhhh!"

That sound tore high and fast, screaming along the walls and shrieking up into the dark. It was the howling of all the demons in the Abyss. It was the wailing of the damned.

It was the loudest, most piercing sound Evelyn could ever have possibly made with her own two lungs.

And when she stopped – when she finally loosed all the breath in her chest and was forced to gasp hard another lungful … she rolled onto her back and started hammering at the bars of her cell with both feet.

She screamed again.

"EVELYN!" Xan cried out when she stopped to breathe. He snatched at her out of the dark, but she shrugged him off. She just kept screaming and pounding with all her might.

"WHAT IN THE HELLS IS GOING ON?"

Ajantis was screaming back at her, booming over the rising tenor of her shriek. She didn't pay him any heed either. The bars rattled mercilessly before her boots.

The knight continued howling at her. Xan gave up trying to hold her down. But she wasn't at it long before light suddenly came spilling into the chamber.

Evelyn leapt back to her feet in an instant, quiet once more. If she had only been trying to get a better look, it did her little good. She had to retreat a step, blinking and scrubbing at her eyes with a hand. No matter how much she willed them to see, the light was just too bright.

"What in _blazes_ is going on in here?"

Evelyn finally managed to blink away some of that blindness. It was only torchlight, burning dimly in the hands of either Flaming Fist guard that flanked the opened wooden doors leading into that space. Angelo Dosan strode right through.

He came up short, turning instantly toward the raven-haired young woman squinting and shielding her eyes at him then. He cocked his head to one side.

Then he snatched free a knife, and drove it straight into her stomach.

Evelyn threw herself violently back, tumbling over with a sharp cry and back down to the dingy stone. Xan was on her in an instant, both of them clawing at that bleeding hole there in her tunic beneath the coat. The lieutenant only watched.

The Elf's voice was biting viciously at her ear in tandem with that hole in her stomach. She didn't hear him. Instead she sucked in ragged breaths, eyes riveted on that crimson mess spilling out over her skin. The other was trying to pry her hands from it, but she clutched down too hard.

Swallowing, she finally tore her eyes away from the wound long enough to glare up at the man. It was shallow, deep enough to draw blood. If she had been any closer …

"I do hope you enjoy our hospitality here, Evelyn of Candlekeep," he was saying irritably. "Just call if you have need of anything else. I would be more than happy to oblige a _second_ time."

Ajantis muttered something at him, standing and hands clutched tight to the bars on his cell. For a moment, Evelyn got a clear view of that narrow passage, sandwiched between two rows of cells jammed vengefully close together. A set of black eyes was watching that scene with interest from one of those others.

"What was that?" the lieutenant rounded instantly on the knight. He stalked a step toward him, clutching that dagger still. The other stood his ground.

"I have little patience for murderers," he continued coldly, "even less so for those with _smart_ tongues."

He stopped just before the bars, hefting the small blade in one hand. Ajantis bared his teeth.

"Where is Commander Scar?" Evelyn demanded, pushing her way back to her feet. Xan had an arm under her shoulder to help her, but she shrugged him away. "I want to speak with him." It was hard to keep the pain in her stomach from her voice, and she could hardly keep from doubling over.

"Oh, I am afraid that will be impossible," Dosan voiced slowly, still staring down the knight. The dagger hung there ready between them, almost taunting. Ajantis seemed not to care.

"Why not?" she finally asked after a few, long throbbing moments of silence. She stumbled forward back to the bars, one hand clutching metal to steady her, the other wrapped tight about her bleeding middle.

"Because he is _quite_ dead."

The man twisted slowly back about. Evelyn only stared at him in surprise.

"Dead?" she breathed in disbelief. The other only narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. Three nights ago. Another of your assassin ilk." His face twisted into a slight sneer as he spoke. "Traces of Amnish handiwork all over the scene. Bloody enough work at that."

He was standing just before her cell again, leveling her with those cold, hateful eyes. His voice dropped low. "The Grand Duke Entar Silvershield was murdered the very same night. Duke Eltan is sick as well – dying they say. I have no doubts that it was poison."

His eyes were searching fiercely her own. "As of the moment, _I_ am acting Commander of the Flaming Fist. Make no mistake," he drew even closer, "I will unearth whatever plot you Amnish have planned for this city. And our new Grand Duke will make certain that all of _Amn_ is properly punished. For _every_thing …"

He pulled back, and turned away. Evelyn was left blinking after him. She slowly shook her head.

"New Duke?" she voiced softly to herself. The other seemed to hear, though, and looked suddenly back at her.

"Yes," he told her briskly. "A man who has taken great interest in strengthening our city against its trials of late. _He_ was the one who warned me of your actions in Candlekeep. And it didn't take us long to receive confirmation from the monastery." He clasped his hands behind his back. "A good thing that he so accurately predicted your escape and return to this city. I had men posted at every entrance … but did you really _think_ I wouldn't recognize the very ship Scar and Eltan sent you off on their little _errand_?"

She was staring at him, wide-eyed and incredulous with blood leaking out over her fingers. She didn't even feel it.

"Who?"

She barely more than mouthed the word.

The man only cocked his head to one side.

"Why, Sarevok Anchev, of course," he told her simply. "The son of the very same man you went to Candlekeep to murder."

She felt faint. She took a step back, nearly doubling over all the way. She wasn't looking at the lieutenant anymore, only staring off wide-eyed into space. The man wasn't done with her yet, though. He took a step forward.

"I don't know just what the late Commander and soon to be late Duke's involvement was with a lot of Amnish spies and cutthroats," he began slowly, his voice low, "but I will not grieve over the corpses of _traitors_. That they were betrayed by their own fellow conspirators just shows how treacherous you filthy Amnish dogs really are …"

He stepped back. "Sarevok will bring strength and justice back to the gangrenous head of this city. Sarevok will mete out the justice you all _deserve_."

He turned briskly about, gesturing suddenly toward the knight who still stood clutching his bars.

"Bring this one," he ordered the two guards. "I want a confession."

Metal creaked and groaned with a deafening roar as they threw that cell open. Ajantis pulled back as they cornered him. Then he threw himself at them with a howling cry, fists flying. Their own beat him down swiftly enough, though, and Evelyn could only watch as they wore him steadily down to his knees. They took either limp arm and began dragging him away. Dosan turned with them.

"What about my friends?" she called after the man, her voice trembling. Angry tears were bleeding out her eyes. "What did you do with the rest of them?" It was barely more than a pitiful growl deep in her throat.

The lieutenant only glanced back briefly. He gave her a small, cruel smile. Then the doors were closing behind him.

Darkness swallowed them once more.

* * *

"GAH! _Xan_!"

She swatted the man's fumbling hands away instantly, twisting back from him to the other side of the cell. When she was sure he wouldn't follow, she settled herself back down.

"Just leave it … leave it alone," she grimaced, trying not to think about how dirty her hands were clutching the frayed skin. "There's nothing you can do anyways. Not now."

"If you would just remain still …" came his chidingly soft voice in response. She flashed him a blazing look.

"I don't care how good your eyes are," she snapped back. "It's impossible to see anything in here!"

She only heard him sigh, softly.

"Besides," she continued indifferently, looking away, "it won't matter as long as we're stuck in here."

He didn't say anything to that, and the minutes began to stretch on in silence. She had enough to think about anyways. Ajantis had been gone for almost an hour.

"What do you think they're doing to him?" she mumbled absently. The Elf only sighed deeply once more.

"I think it obvious enough."

She looked in his direction, but he couldn't have seen it. And he didn't bother to say anymore. She supposed it didn't matter. She could use her imagination easily enough.

"We have to get out of here."

She buried her head against her knees, wincing at the sharp pain in her gut. Then she swallowed, hard, and came back up.

"Escaping imprisonment and certain death by a narrow margin is becoming redundant," the Elf's voice sounded softly in that small space. "Perhaps I will stay here …" She could easily imagine that sardonic twist to his face. "Though, I loathe to be locked away from the sun and stars."

"They'll kill us," she said simply. She remembered well the look in Angelo Dosan's eyes, and muttered, "What's left of us."

The sound of those words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She shook her head quickly free of black thoughts.

"And just what would you have us do?"

She snapped up at his chiding tone, acid ready on her tongue. But she swallowed it quickly back down. "I don't know," she said instead. But she knew she had to get out of there. If what the lieutenant – the _commander_ – said was true – that Scar was dead, Eltan was as good as dead, and Sarevok Anchev was somehow going to become a Grand Duke … well, she certainly couldn't do anything about it locked up in there. She glanced back up toward the Elf.

"What about your–"

"Hey!"

A voice hissed low in the dark. Evelyn snapped her eyes around instantly in response. For what good it did. She heard low snickering there amidst the gloom.

"Hey you!" it came again, cackling too. Evelyn squinted her eyes, but it did little good. That voice was coming from somewhere outside their cell.

"Hehehe," it snickered again, "_you're_ the ones that're wanted for murder on three different accounts, huh?" And again it laughed. "Don't try to deny it, I know it's you. Well, hehehehe … my name's Neb."

Evelyn frowned, but did not answer. Instead, she looked to Xan. Not that he could have seen her. Eventually, though, she got tired of the silence.

"What do you want?"

It was Xan who spoke. She gave him another unseen look, but didn't bother to interrupt.

"Hehehe … you're getting impatient in here, are ye?"

Xan didn't answer. She could feel him shifting in the dark. That cackling continued on softly, unabated.

"I've got a way out of here, you know …"

Evelyn blinked. She could almost feel the Elf's eyes twisting toward her in surprise. She pushed herself up to the bars.

"What do you mean?" she demanded quickly. "How are you going to get out?"

The voice only kept laughing.

"Hehehehe … hidden it well, haven't I?" it taunted. "Search all you want and you won't find it, hehehehe …"

She shook her head, but pulled even closer.

"What is it?"

The cackling quieted. Her eyes were scouring the dark for its source – not that she could even make out the bars right in front of her face. Then, that voice spoke again.

"I'll tell you what," it began softly. "Murderer to murderer, now … monster to monster … are you wanting out?"

She caught her breath, wondering just what that meant. She didn't know which might be worse – that it might be as much a monster as her, or that she was as much a one as it.

She swallowed hard.

"Yes."

"Hehehe," it started snickering again immediately. "Sure, sure – everyone's wanting out … but does the world really _want_ us out?" Maybe it's safer if we all just stay in _here_, hehehehe …"

She scowled. Maybe the voice was right. But she could hardly afford to take that chance. Gorion was right too. And she was sure he was the wiser. By far.

"Tell me," she said.

"Hehe," it cackled, "sure, sure." She felt Xan's hand on her arm. "Monster to monster, now, murderer to murder," it continued softly, "tell me … how many _little_ children passed away at old Neb's hands, hehehe … Not one, not two – neither four nor seven nor twelve nor twenty … but the next one, hehehehe … the next one …"

Evelyn pulled back. Her mouth fell open, and hung there. "Children …?" she barely more than breathed. Her voice was suddenly strangled. More than twenty …

She started to shake.

Xan tightened his grip on her arm. She ignored his silent question. That cackling continued, low and full.

"Evelyn …"

She was twisting her head from side to side.

"I'm not like you," she managed, her voice as cold as ice and threatening to crack. She suddenly felt sick to her bleeding stomach. "I'm not like you …"

"Evelyn," the Elf was tugging insistently at her arm. She ignored him.

_Children_ …

"Thirty-three," Xan spoke up abruptly then. "Thirty-three children." His voice did not waver. "That is how many you have killed."

The cackling reached a fever pitch. Evelyn only looked sharply toward the sound of the Elf's voice right beside her, aghast. She pulled her arm back.

"No," she growled. "No." He was mad. He was sick. Very, very sick. "I'd rather rot here," she barely managed at the last. And she would. She wouldn't play that sick game any longer.

"Hehehe … then rot you will, murderer … monster … then rot you will …"

She slumped back down against the cell wall, still trembling and shaking her head. It was a lie. It was nothing but a twisted game. "Gods help us," she heard Xan mutter, softly. She only scowled. They wouldn't, and it would have taken more than them to keep her hands from tearing out that voice's throat if she ever got free. Much more.

She could feel them start to glow. For once … murder didn't seem like such a terrible thing.

"Hehehe," she heard Neb cackling gently. "In a world without justice … the gods are little more than a divine _puppet_ show. Look carefully who is pulling their strings, hehehe … _and_ yours …"

The Elf settled in beside her. He sighed.

* * *

Evelyn started at the sound of the doors pushing open sometime later.

Her eyes snapped back open. She had fallen asleep. She was wincing instantly, though, and twisting away. Blinding light spilled into the chamber.

Her head had fallen down on the Elf's shoulder beside her. She pushed up and away, shaking him awake with a hand. His eyes flashed open, even as hers began to adjust. She could hear boots clapping hard on the stone floor.

A cell door opened. Evelyn squinted, trying to see past that torch burning bright in one of the guards' hands. They pushed away a half-naked body between them. It tumbled over and into the cell. Then they were closing bars tight behind.

Evelyn looked up. Commander Dosan was staring back down at her.

"I do hope you managed to get some sleep," he said simply. Those eyes glinted at her in the torchlight. "Because in a few hours you shall be taken to the Bazaar where you shall each hang by the neck until dead." He smiled. "But in the mean time …"

Those eyes shifted over to Xan. Evelyn felt herself tense.

"Commander?"

Another Flaming Fist stopped fast in the doorway, saluting. Angelo Dosan twisted back about.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Your daughter …" the man began. The other didn't even let him finish.

"_Gods_, what is it _this_ time?"

He was already pushing past the guard.

The other two Flaming Fist followed swiftly on the commander's heels. The door shut, and they vanished in the sudden dark.

Evelyn pulled herself up to the bars.

"Ajantis?" she ventured softly. There was no answer.

She put an ear to the restful gloom. It was quiet. But she could still hear him breathing.

"Ajantis?" she whispered again, more insistently. "Are you alright?" She suddenly wondered if it was really the knight's breathing she heard at all.

A low chuckling almost seemed to answer her.

She twisted her head away, and pulled slowly back. But there was nothing more she could say – nothing more she could do as long as she stayed locked up in there. She swallowed hard, shaking her head, helpless. There was nothing more she could do. But there was so much more she could have done.

Her back struck stone, and she took her head in her hands.

In a few hours … it wouldn't even matter.

"Tell me …"

Her eyes snapped back up. Xan shifted beside her. And they were both looking away into the gloom then.

"Ajantis?"

She clawed her way back to the bars. She couldn't see _anything_.

"Tell me," that voice came again, soft and full of pain. It was pressed hard up against the stone floor beneath. "Evelyn …" She pushed even closer. It was not the madness of that cackling fiend. But she almost didn't recognize it at all.

"Was there … ever anything good in you at all?" it rasped slowly, uncertain and barely more than a whisper. "Or was it always this … _hate_ …?"

Her mouth fell open in surprise. For a moment, she couldn't have thought to say anything. It didn't matter, though. He didn't wait for her to answer.

"I have been blinded since the beginning … I think …" he rambled on, incoherent. "There was nothing but this blackness … this vengeance … wrapped in a soft shell of … untouchable beauty and innocence." He swallowed loudly in the stillness. "The Ever Watchful Eye is so much … _greater_ … than my own. I was such a … such a _fool_."

His voice dipped low to an incredulous whisper at the last. It was quiet for some time.

"Now," he breathed softly anew. "Now, I think … I finally _understand_ my duty …"

He fell silent. No more words came. Evelyn waited for them, patiently. Her hands still clutched the bars tight. But no more came.

"Ajantis …," she finally spoke. There was no answer in the dark. Her eyes were nearly shaking. But her body was strangely still.

"Ajantis, I need your help …"

She tried to ignore everything else he had said. There was no time for it then. They would all be dead in a few hours. What was left of them. He was rambling, incoherent. It wouldn't matter anyways.

She waited.

And finally, he answered her.

"I know."


	76. Chapter 7 Jail Bait

_**Jail Bait**_

The doors thrust open, and a guard pushed hastily inside.

"Watch them," a second one ordered firmly from behind. It was Captain Grayne. He thrust a torch into the hand of the first. "We'll deal with this quickly."

And with that, the doors swung shut behind him. Only the one guard was left standing in the encroaching dark.

Evelyn squinted from where she sat in her cell, frowning up at the lone Flaming Fist. They were early. Not that it mattered much. They were next to helpless yet, stuck there in those cells. The best idea that she had had so far was to try to break free when they finally came to take her – with better luck than Ajantis. And that was hardly an idea at all. Her hopes had long since begun to wear thin.

She waited, tensing. But the man only stood there. He spared them no few, dubious looks. But there was no fear of them there in their cells. She glanced aside to Xan.

"What do you intend to do?" the Elf asked. He was studying the guard as well. She only shook her head.

"I don't know yet."

They could hardly have hoped just to fight back like the knight had when they finally opened their cell. They would not be so foolish as to come without enough men to take them both, easily. She only wondered where those men were now.

"Far be it from me to remind you of just how precious what little time we have left now truly is."

"I know," she snapped back fretfully. She glanced across to Ajantis' cell. He was still sitting there in nothing but his welts, bruises, and trousers, looking calm. His eyes were dark, and never left the guard.

"I know," she growled again. "We just have to–"

"Hey! No talking in there!"

The Flaming Fist took a hasty step toward their cell, hand on hilt at his side. "Ye'll keep your damned murderin' tongues quiet until the Commander comes back or so help me I'll cut 'em out!"

He stared them down for a few moments. Evelyn glared dangerously back. Ajantis' face was like steel from behind, bruised muscles visibly tensing. Xan didn't move.

But the man was satisfied. He started to turn back away, grumbling loudly to himself. His back was to them.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes went wide.

"Where did _he_ go?"

Evelyn glanced past him, frowning in confusion. The Elf raised an eyebrow at her side.

"Who?"

The Flaming Fist soldier rounded back on her slowly, stabbing his free hand toward an empty cell across from theirs. It was one of two to either side of Ajantis'. The knight was the only one to be seen there in the flickering torchlight.

"The Gnome thief!" the man spat at them. He twisted back toward the empty cell.

Evelyn climbed to her feet. The man was slipping his torch into a bracket beside the door, hand on hilt and glaring into the cell. It only took her a few moments to realize just who he must have meant. She sucked in a shallow breath, eyes wide.

"He said he had a way out …"

Xan was standing at her side. The guard whirled back around.

"_Where_ is he?" he demanded heatedly once more. Evelyn only shook her head.

"I don't know. He–"

"_Liar_!"

A gauntleted hand was flashing through the bars before she could blink, closing on her throat. Both her hands flew up in response, choking suddenly on her own unspoken words.

"Tell me where he is!" the man barked again, slipping free his blade. Her eyes fluttered up. He had moved so quickly, she hadn't even thought to try to stop him.

Steel leveled with her heart.

"Tell me! Tell me now!"

She looked up at him desperately, suddenly wondering just how she was supposed to answer him. He didn't care, though. And she hardly got a chance to ask.

Hands forced her roughly aside. The blade thrust in at her, just barely missing. A thin slice of red opened up swiftly along her side. The guard still kept his grip.

Xan was slamming both hands into the man's arm next. Another fierce blow, and they came free. Evelyn stumbled back, gasping for air. The guard stabbed a fist in, taking the Elf clean in the side of the head. He tumbled over and down.

"Amnish _dogs_!" the guard spat at them, stiffening.

There was no room to move in that small space. Evelyn felt her back strike stone in an instant. Then she was forcing herself forward. Still gagging, she brought one boot up and slammed it through the bars into the man's chest. She caught him just before he could thrust in again. He stumbled back.

She spluttered, hacking and desperate for breath. Xan was struggling back to his feet. The Flaming Fist only caught himself against the far cell to the other side of the knight's, out of reach. He growled back at them.

"Oh, you're _dead_ now!"

Evelyn only tried to keep her eyes on him and steady herself. Not that it mattered much. There was nothing they could do with those bars between them. He could stick them like pigs in a barrel as he pleased.

He hefted the blade in his hand. Then he picked himself back up.

Two black arms slipped out of the bars behind and wrapped around his head.

The man was dead before Evelyn even realized he had stopped moving. His neck snapped loudly in the low light. And that mailed body clanged down against stone floor a moment later.

She blinked up in surprise, still struggling for breath. After a few moments, she regained some control of herself.

Xan was back. But neither of them got the chance to say anything just then. Another woman's voice cut them both off swiftly.

"The keys!"

A dark hand was stabbing down toward the ground from that other cell. Evelyn followed it swiftly to the dead man's body. All at once she was down on her knees, stretching desperately toward the metal loop at his belt.

Her arm wasn't long enough. She sat there for several moments, squashing the side of her face into metal bars and clawing the air with her fingertips.

Then she watched a hand reach out slowly … and snatch them free.

She looked up. It was the knight.

Ajantis slowly stood up. He remained there, still and silent and staring at the metal ring in his hands. It took all too long, but he eventually reached around and unlocked the door to his cell.

When he was out into the corridor, the knight looked first to the dead man on the floor, then to the other cell where that woman's voice had come from. They could barely see her in the dim light. He settled his dark eyes on the raven-haired woman last.

"Ajantis," she voice urgently when he did nothing for several, long moments. She was standing, face still pressed up between the bars. She could almost see the dark thoughts worming away there behind his bluff face.

"Please."

Xan had come up at her side. The knight barely noticed him, eyes heavy and unflinching on her. Her voice was desperate, almost pleading. He suddenly looked away.

"Please …"

The door unlocked abruptly with a sharp click. The bars slid quickly past as Xan pushed his way out. Ajantis turned away, not saying a word. Evelyn remained there for a moment, staring at the knight. Then she was hastily following the other out as well.

She paused before the dead guard, staring at him. Then she glanced up to that other cell. Two black eyes were staring right back at her.

That other woman said not a word. She just stared at Evelyn with a cool, calm gaze. It was expectant too, though. She could not hide that from the raven-haired woman. Those black eyes were anxious. And she certainly couldn't hide that black skin or her pointed ears. Evelyn had seen them once before.

"Drow," Xan growled at her side. She glanced over toward him, seeing the woman stiffen at the name. She didn't remember him seeming so put off by Drizzt Do'Urden not several weeks ago.

But it was easy enough to see the hatred in his handsome face then. Ajantis was glancing back over his shoulder at them.

"We need to move. Now."

He was already at the door, peeking out. The fallen guard's blade was in his hand and his tone was clipped.

"What about her?" Evelyn asked aloud without turning from the Dark Elf. The knight only grunted.

"She killed the man in cold blood. Leave her."

Xan retrieved the guard's dagger from his belt. He didn't say anything. Nor did his eyes ever leave that cell.

Finally, Evelyn just looked to the Drow.

"Do you want to live?"

The other woman blinked. Then she narrowed her eyes at Evelyn. She finally found her voice again.

"Yes."

Evelyn only canted her head.

"Then you can help us get out of here."

She stepped over the dead man toward the cell. Xan was snatching her back almost instantly.

"What do you think you are doing, Evelyn?" he demanded, incredulous. "Her kind is _not_ to be trusted!"

She pulled out of his grip. "She helped us get free," she said simply. That was enough. But she could see the irritation boiling away on the Elf's face.

"She will betray us!"

Evelyn didn't even look back as she reached the cell.

"Drizzt didn't."

She fit the key into the lock. Then she looked up to meet the Dark Elf's eyes. They were steady on her own. The key turned.

When she turned back around, the other woman stepping out beside her … the knight was gone. She blinked in surprise, but Xan didn't notice. His eyes never left the Dark Elf. Evelyn pushed instantly past him.

She burst through the doors without another thought – without thinking just what must be waiting for her on the other side. It was the central chamber of the compound. Instead of finding a dozen Flaming Fist bearing down on her, though … there was only Ajantis.

She came up short. The knight stood on the opposite end of the open room. Three Flaming Fist soldiers lay on the ground behind him, unconscious. He straightened, and glanced back toward her.

"Hurry," was all he said.

Evelyn started after him. Xan was just behind her, that Dark Elf not much further.

There was motion on the stairs to one side. Evelyn whipped about, but it was the knight who was moving first. He had one of the guard's shields in his other hand. He sent it hurtling toward the stairs.

A woman cried out, and then went down. The shield took her clean off her feet. Evelyn hurried toward her. Ajantis beat her there.

As soon as the knight got close, though, two legs thrust out and sent him sprawling. Evelyn was there next, but the woman had already reached aside and snatched a sword from the floor. She swung wide, and the raven-haired woman leapt back just ahead of it.

The other woman was back on her feet and suddenly bearing down on Evelyn then. For a moment, it was all she could do to keep ahead of her fierce, calculated blows. Ajantis was back, though, and joining in as well a moment later. Somehow, that lone woman managed to keep them both at bay.

It didn't last long.

The knight had her cornered now. The surprise was lost. And she could hardly have held back Evelyn too, even without a weapon. She kept swinging wide, howling, and desperate only to keep either of them from getting too close. She was angling around toward the front entrance chamber. They wouldn't be able to stop her in time before she ran. Evelyn tried to pounce on her.

But then, abruptly, the other woman just … stopped.

She froze dead in her tracks, arms raised in mid-swing even as she turned to bolt in retreat. Her eyes beat on at them, furiously, and then were swallowed in surprise. Ajantis only just reined in his blade before he took her unmoving head off.

Evelyn came up short, fists ready. Then she glanced hurriedly aside. Xan only stood there, ready. It was not his doing. Instead, it was the dark-skinned Elf behind him with her hand raised, eyes fixed on the frozen woman she looked to next.

Ajantis followed Evelyn's gaze to the Dark Elf as well. The other lowered her hand calmly a moment later.

The chamber had grown quiet. But it didn't last long. All at once, shouting from that hallway to the entrance chamber brought them all twisting instantly around toward it. Another two Flaming Fist were charging down it at them, and Evelyn could hear more beyond.

Xan flicked a wrist, and the two massive doors leading out to that passage began to swing shut. Ajantis was darting toward it next. Just as the wood slammed together, he snatched at the plank lining the wall beside and heaved it into the braces. Fierce pounding erupted just on the other side.

"That was our way out," Xan said aloud, coming back around. Evelyn only shook her head.

"We'll have to find another way."

"How?" the knight demanded harshly, stalking back over to them and retrieving his shield. Evelyn glanced over her shoulder.

"I think _she_ knows." She gestured with a hand toward the frozen woman. Ajantis gave her a dubious look, but she remembered that fiery, fair-haired young woman all too well now. If anyone might have known another way out of the Flaming Fist headquarters … it was the commander's own daughter.

"Her?" Ajantis came back to stand over the girl. Xan turned as well.

But the woman just glared up at them, eyes wide and full of hate. There was not even an ounce of fear there.

"I'll never tell you anything," she all but spat. She could move her head. It started thrashing oddly against the rest of her still frozen body.

Evelyn took a step closer, glaring coldly at the other. The knight stood tensing to one side – not that she thought he might do anything. But the girl only faced them both back boldly.

It was quiet, but for the hammering of steel against the doors.

Finally, Xan spoke.

"We do not have time for this," he sighed irritably. Then he pushed Evelyn to one side. Without another word, he took the girl's head in both hands, and started mumbling under his breath.

The other was struggling fiercely anew. The Elf somehow managed to keep a hold of her. His eyes met hers, suddenly intense … and then she stopped. She settled down. A few moments later, a broad, silly grin spread across her face.

Evelyn frowned, pushing back up beside them. "What happened? What did you do?"

The Elf gave her a sidelong look. The girl still had that stupid look etched firmly into her.

"Is there another way out?" Xan asked the woman, not bothering to answer Evelyn. All of a sudden the girl started bobbing her head quickly, eagerly.

"Through the armory. Down those stairs," she said, suddenly chipper. "I can show you!"

Evelyn blinked. Somehow, she thought, by the look in that girl's eyes then, if she had not still been held fast, she would have been all over the Elf and impossible to pull away. Fortunately, though, when Xan ordered the Dark Elven woman to release her a moment later, the girl only flounced away toward those stairs on the other side of the hall leading down.

"Follow me!"

The steel hammering on those doors had only gotten louder.

Evelyn kept frowning at Xan. The Elf ignored her, though, and started forward. He did not get far.

"Aaachh!" a voice hissed loudly behind them on the stairs. "MURDERERS!"

Evelyn twisted back about, but it was only to catch robes fluttering hastily away back out of sight.

"What was that?" Ajantis demanded irritably, looking to the raven-haired woman as if she should know. She had only been in that place once before.

She opened her mouth, but it was the girl who spoke.

"Duke Eltan's healer," she answered excitedly. Her eyes never left the Elf, as if he should care. She even twirled a length of her hair between two fingers, somehow managing to look bashful. "Father doesn't trust him very much."

Evelyn frowned at the other, hard. The change was so drastic … it was eerie to say the least. And she still wasn't sure just what the Elf had done to her. Xan only looked grim.

"Duke Eltan …?" She suddenly blinked, glancing away after whomever it was that had fled the stairwell. But Ajantis was already starting down the other stairs.

"Evelyn," the Elf warned from behind. But she started toward those stairs leading up anyways.

"Stay with her," she gestured vaguely back toward that dumbstruck girl. Then she was bounding up those stone steps toward the floor above.

"We don't have time!" Xan howled after her. But she didn't stop.

She remembered well Commander Scar taking her and Jaheira to that place to meet with Duke Eltan. If what Angelo had told them was true, and Scar was dead, then the Grand Duke was the only one that knew the truth about the Iron Throne, and Candlekeep. He was the only one that could help them now. Even if the new commander thought the man a traitor and part of some conspiracy – he was still a Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate. He could help them … unless he was already dead.

It was dark in those upper chambers – empty. The clamoring on the door below died almost instantly, and so did her steps. It wouldn't be long before those Flaming Fist broke through the wood. If she didn't hurry, those doors would break and she would be trapped up there. She wouldn't be. She couldn't. Not again.

The healer was nowhere in sight. Not that he couldn't have been hiding somewhere in all that gloom. She didn't have time to worry about him, though. She turned quickly away.

There was a dim light flickering off to one side. It was in a room beyond that one. She started toward it instantly, seeing the candle resting on a table stand inside. He was in there. She could feel it.

As soon as she was moving again, though, something came hurtling at her out of the dark.

A body barreled into her side, hefting her up and carrying her into the air with a sharp cry until they both crashed hard into stone wall. Evelyn felt the breath ripped free from her lungs, blood spilling free once more from torn open flesh in her stomach even as that other pulled away. She tumbled down to the ground.

For a moment, she couldn't move, nerves firing wildly all over her body. She couldn't see her attacker, but she sure felt his fist slamming hard into the side of her face a few seconds later. She toppled over, and lay still.

The other paused, straightening in the gloom. Then he started to turn back away. Before he could, though, a leg suddenly lashed out and swept him off his feet. He crashed down on his back beside her, flailing.

Evelyn bounced up atop him instantly, hammering a fist into his unseen face. It slammed back hard into the stone floor. He came up again, and she struck him with the other. A third time, and he finally lay still.

"_Now_, Evelyn!" she suddenly heard the Elf screaming up at her, and she gasped. She picked herself up quickly.

Out of breath and none to steady on her feet, Evelyn still managed to stagger her way on toward that room with the candle, arm cradling her stomach. A man was lying on a bed just inside.

She paused, narrowing her eyes down at that dark form. It was sweaty and unkempt, swathed in blankets yet still tracing a pungent odor in the air. She crinkled her nose, but moved to the side of the bed. It was him. She had only met him once, but she was sure.

The duke wasn't moving much, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath the blankets. His head would shift every few seconds, thrashing one way or another as he licked his cracked lips and mumbled something inaudible. His eyes were shut fast, though. She felt a hand to his slick brow. It might have caught flame then and there, it was so hot.

She moved to pull the blankets away. Then she reached down for the other, all but limping herself. Before she could, though, motion was suddenly erupting behind her.

"… Shar!"

Light flashed in the dark room beyond, and Evelyn twisted back around. All of a sudden, a body flew hurtling past her, bowling over the stand and candle on the opposite side of the duke's bedchamber. A moment later, the Dark Elven woman stepped inside. Evelyn looked over to that fallen body. It was the healer.

She caught sight of the dagger that had tumbled away from the man's unmoving form. And then she glanced up at the Drow. It was easy enough to guess what had happened. Despite what she had said to Xan outside their cells, she knew enough about Dark Elves to know that one should not have done her any favors.

And so she stood there with her mouth hung open uselessly. "Thank you," was all she could manage after another moment.

The Elven woman didn't say anything, just moved to retrieve the small blade from the dead man. Evelyn pulled the duke up to her shoulder, grunting as she lugged him off the bed. She could see the healer's dead body begin to wither suddenly and shrivel down to a smooth gray husk beneath his robes. The other woman was studying it curiously.

"Doppleganger," Evelyn said simply, hiding her own surprise. The Drow turned back around. Before the raven-haired woman had gotten three jarring steps with the duke's bulky body, the other was there and helping her.

"Thank you," she told the woman again, unsure of what else to say. The other still said nothing.

When they got back downstairs, Xan was waiting for them. He was facing the double doors – now hacked nearly to pieces with what sounded like a dozen men working at it from the other side. He had one hand up and ready, aglow with magic. The other held his moonblade. As he heard them stumbling down the stairs toward him though, he twisted back around.

He spared them a dubious frown for the Grand Duke, held between the two women, but hardly wasted a moment more before turning away.

"Come," he said, and then started down those other stairs. The girl was right behind him.

"_Shaaaar!_"

A voice bellowed from across the room, and Evelyn glanced toward the door. A half-dozen blades were hacking huge, gaping holes into it, and a face suddenly pushed through. It was Dosan.

"It's okay, Father," the girl waved back happily, not the least bit concerned. She disappeared after the Elf down below.

"Now! BRING IT DOWN _NOW_!" the commander barked furiously at the other Flaming Fist.

"We have to hurry."

Evelyn only spared them one last glance. Then she and the Drow were pulling the duke down after.

Ajantis was waiting for them below.

The knight was strapping his gauntlets on. He had hastily donned the rest of his armor, buckles still flapping loose all across his chest. He had his own sword and shield again. As she neared, he tossed Evelyn the Kara-Turian blade. Fuller's dagger was lying on the floor nearby.

It was a wine cellar, and an armory. As she looked quickly around at the many casks and racks of swords, spears, and mail – she briefly wondered just how well those two things mixed. At least they hadn't thought to take their things far. She hefted the ashwood staff in one hand next.

A loud crash sounded upstairs. It was followed by banging footsteps.

"MOVE!" Ajantis bellowed, and then whirled back around. He reached down and snatched up the handle of a latch buried in the floor. Some of those wine casks lay shifting on the stone not far away.

Evelyn snatched back up the Grand Duke's other arm. She handed him off to the knight at the hatch. "Take him," she told the other. He did not hesitate before pulling the insensible man over one shoulder and starting down a ladder below.

The Dark Elf was next. She didn't even wait for anyone's word. Those clamoring boots had reached the top of the stairs.

"Xan–"

"SHAAAR!"

The Elf spun about, even as an all too familiar face came flying down the stairs. The Elf darted toward the hole, and her. Angelo Dosan reached the bottom, having put the room above between him and his men with great, desperate and vengeful strides. He took one look at all of them … and then leapt after the Elf.

The moonblade hung down at his side. Xan didn't even see it coming – the dagger slicing down at his back. Evelyn did, though. _She_ did. She watched as the commander sailed up and down into him from behind, bloody murder carved into his vengeful face.

She screamed.

"XAN!"

But the Elf suddenly wasn't there anymore. As that dagger came down, he flew aside. That girl was suddenly in his place. Steel sliced down into her instead.

Angelo Dosan's eyes went wide, looking abruptly then in horrified awe on his own daughter. She abruptly seemed to snap as well, as they both tumbled down to the ground with the force of the blow. The commander's eyes flashed down to the dagger. It was buried deep in the heart of that girl. He had not missed.

Evelyn hardly had time to watch as the woman collapsed into her father's arms, however, the man's face twisting in livid, trembling horror as she toppled backwards and to the floor. Xan stumbled on toward her with the force of the blow the girl had shoved him aside with. He crashed right into her.

And then they were both falling away into the dark.


	77. Chapter 7 Guttersnipe

_**Guttersnipe**_

"The Grand Duke is gone."

Captain Grayne came to a halt some paces behind, one-eyed face hard and set. It glared out at the two men standing to one side for a moment. Up until a few minutes ago, they had been strewn unconscious on the upstairs floor.

The men had enough sense to look ashamed. The captain growled in his throat, opening his mouth to say something more, but Angelo Dosan had raised a hand. He let it fall, lifeless at his side. The two other men turned swiftly on their heels, and left.

"Casualties," came the commander's voice of a sudden then. It was flat, dead. He did not turn to face the other.

Grayne stiffened, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Only the man on their cell when we left, Commander. Erichs. Broken neck." And a nasty little job of it too. From what he had seen.

But the other was shaking his head, slowly.

"No," Dosan told him. Then he barked a harsh laugh. "You forgot one." He gestured with a hand.

The captain only cleared his throat.

"Aye, sir."

He canted his head.

Angelo Dosan had not moved since they had finally caught up to him in the basement armory. He still sat there on his knees, staring ahead to the ground. He had not answered the captain when he first arrived, but it hadn't taken him long to figure out just what had happened. And he had not hesitated before sending half a dozen men into the sewers below to recapture the fugitives. Once the compound had been secured, another dozen had followed swiftly.

Still, the commander had not moved. Just then, reaching out a hand – it was the first time he had in what seemed like hours.

Fingers gently grazed the side of that dead girl's head. Grayne watched from behind without a word. He could still hear boots thudding about upstairs, as the men set about desperately trying to reorder the mess that had been left to greet them. The front set of doors, if nothing else, would certainly have to be replaced.

But Dosan paid no heed to any of it. All he seemed to care about just then was his dead daughter, lying in a pool of her own blood before him.

"It is a strange thing," he uttered at last, his voice lilting of a sudden, "how you never quite know just what something means to you …" His eyes narrowed down on that corpse "… until it is gone."

He barked another hollow laugh. Then he twisted his eyes back about toward the other.

"Wouldn't you agree, Captain?"

The one-eyed man hesitated, unsure of just what kind of answer the commander was looking for. But the man turned back away before he had to decide.

That hand still stroked the dead girl's hair. Her eyes were wide and fixed. And so were Angelo Dosan's.

"Why …" he breathed incredulously. "Why did she do it?" He was shaking his head. "Why _would_ she do it? Why …?"

He swallowed. His lips continued moving, twisting as he muttered on, insensible. He just kept shaking his head, and murmuring to himself. The captain eyed him warily.

Then that hand curled into a fist around her hair.

"_Why_?"

He pulled close, snatching her head up toward him.

"Why would you do it, Shar? _Why_?!" He suddenly shouted at her. "Did you really hate me so much? Why?" He shook her. "ANSWER ME!"

"Commander."

Grayne stared at the other man, his voice soft. Dosan abruptly stilled at the sound of it. After another moment, he eased back and released the dead girl's head. The captain only straightened where he stood.

Shar-Teel had already been dead when they got there, her father crouching low over her and nearly catatonic. No one had bothered to ask about the girl. No one had dared say anything at all. No one knew. But Grayne was starting to suppose he could guess just what might have transpired down there mere moments before they had arrived.

"Commander Dosan," the captain repeated more forcefully when the other failed to respond. At that, he did. He laughed softly in his throat.

"I think I preferred Lieutenant Commander much better." Then his eyes hardened. "She was but a petty nuisance back then … Alive …"

"What about Duke Eltan?" Grayn put an edge to his voice.

There was a time to grieve and a time to fight. The battle was still going on. _Murderers_ were running loose in the city. And that they had taken the commander's own daughter hostage and then killed her in order to cover their escape should have been more than reason enough for the other man to get back on his feet.

"They've kidnapped him."

But the other man only shook his head after a moment.

"A rescue," he uttered bitterly. "Not a kidnapping. They will ask for no ransom. No," he growled. "They will play him as an Amnish puppet against us. They will try to use his power to unmake this city again."

His head dipped low.

"If we let them."

After a few, long moments … he stood.

"He warned me that she was dangerous," Angelo Dosan began mumbling anew, still staring down at that form on the floor, "_warned_ me not to take chances with her. I should have listened. Scar is _dead_. Entar is _dead_. Eltan is _gone_. Shar is …

He swallowed, and Grayne was sure he could see tears at the corners of the man's eyes then.

"What is happening to this city?" he breathed at the last, lost and disbelieving all at once as he glanced abruptly back up. His eyes were roving, not focusing on anything at all.

Grayne only grunted behind him.

"The question is, Commander …," he told the other evenly, slowly. He clasped his hands behind his back, and straightened where he stood. "What is _going_ to happen to it?"

The other man blinked. Then he bobbed his head.

"You're right." He swallowed again, hard. "You are right."

There was a moment's pause, as the commander stiffened.

"There is only one thing that matters now," he voiced softly, and it bled out with renewed vigor of a sudden. He straightened his coat over his mail. "The coronation ceremony is in two days." He glanced back, briefly. "We had best make sure it goes well."

He bent down. The dead girl's body folded almost neatly up into his arms.

"There is but one hope left for this city," he whispered softly, almost as if he were speaking to that corpse in his arms. For a moment, Grayne wondered if he was. "Sarevok Anchev," he breathed at the last. His lips brushed his daughter's cold brow, and he stood.

"I want that girl's head, Captain," the commander looked up to the other sharply. He did not look to Shar-Teel, but for a moment, his voice shook just the same. "I want her _blood_." He was baring his teeth.

Then he turned away, and slowly carried his daughter back out from that tomb.

Captain Grayne watched him go.

* * *

Evelyn bobbed her head. She was moving. Her eyes fluttered. But she couldn't keep them open. She tried. She tried to snap her neck up to see. It barely moved.

"Which way?" a voice asked – close.

"How should I know?" another growled back. "I am not so intimate with the Gate's sewers …"

"Well, why not just–"

"Shhh! They're getting close!"

The voices fell silent again. There was a dull throbbing in her middle. The only other sound was a steady chugging of water along beside them. She could feel the soft pulse of hurried footsteps underneath her. It was an eternity, but they abruptly stopped once more.

"We are becoming lost …" one chided, grimly.

"Quiet!" the other hissed. "I heard something …"

Just the water again then. And some splashing footsteps. Her eyes fluttered once more. She tried to mumble something.

"Shhh …" that one voice soothed. Then it was echoing aloud once more. "What is it?"

Quiet. All she could hear was soft breathing. It might have been just her own. She was shaking her head gently.

"We have to keep–"

"Hssst! I told you to – GODS!"

Motion erupted somewhere. Water splashed with sudden fervor. That one voice howled. Then all she heard was a strange sucking noise and gurgling. A warbling. Then fierce splashing again.

She was down on the ground. Hands pulled away from her quickly. Everything went silent once more.

"Knight?"

There were a few careful footsteps away from her. She tried to stir. Her mind fogged over too quickly. Steel rang free, echoing loudly in the quiet. Those footsteps stopped.

Water erupted abruptly once more. That one voice was howling, barking angrily aloud. Thrashing. The other was mumbling something. A clarion call like a bell inside her skull. Shrieking. More splashing. Then all fell still.

Another eternity, filled only with ragged breathing. Steel scraped slowly across stone. Finally, one of those voices spoke.

"Are you alright?"

"We have to move."

Hands wrapped her tightly. She felt herself lifted up, mewling. They were moving again.

"They're getting closer," the one muttered sometime later. They didn't bother to slow.

Snippets of voices behind. They bounced off stone, ringing in her ears. They were drifting steadily closer. Ghosts. Pawing at her.

She cried out sharply. Pain stabbed at her middle like fire.

"Keep her quiet!"

A hand closed over her mouth. She wailed into the flesh of it, tears burning at her eyes.

"We are going in circles!"

"What choice do we have?"

Those other voices kept getting closer. Footsteps. Boots. Many boots. She could feel one of their hearts beating quickly in tandem with her own. She tried to shake her head.

"Where–?"

"This way!"

Hasty footfalls. Water. Those echoing shouts were deafening.

"Wait!"

Someone growled. Another grunted. The feet beneath her came skidding to a halt. One of the voices cried out, then went silent. Metal clanged to the floor.

"The other!" a new voice hissed at them. The one above her started mumbling in response. Then he grunted. His body shook – her along with it.

They were both falling. She felt wet stone scrape her side.

She drifted.

* * *

Then she shot straight out of bed with a scream.

She lurched, and caught herself. The cry died in her throat almost instantly. She swallowed it. Then she blinked down at the lumpy thing beneath her.

_A dream?_ Memories were jumbled around in her skull. She suddenly felt dizzy, some jarring loose. She shook her head, but that didn't help. It never helped. She glanced down.

The bleeding hole in her middle was gone. She realized that with a sharp gasp. The welt on her head too, and her swollen jaw. Fingers clawed through her hair.

_Maybe_ …

But, no. She found the hole in her tunic quickly enough. And the blood. She was filthy, and she smelled of a sewer again. That room was made of cramped stone, dark. The bed beneath her was an old, decrepit thing.

Ajantis …

Xan!

She threw herself over and to her feet in an instant. There was a door to her new cell. She toppled over and down to the ground a few times before she could reach it. Her head throbbed, and she nearly threw up.

She stopped with her hand to the latch, choking back bile in her throat. She froze. Then she threw herself aside, and collapsed against the wall.

She had to get out. She had to get _free_. But she wasn't going to be stupid about it. Not again.

There were voices on the other side of that door. Hushed. She didn't have her weapons. She lurched closer until her ear smashed up against wood.

"… think you have made quite the mess of things …"

"… sewers were swarming with Fist! We had no …"

" … Commander Scar? What about …"

"We have her, do we not?"

"… more important just now …"

She winced. The blood and bruises might have been gone – she didn't know why yet – but her head still felt a few loose bricks short of a wall. She slumped down against the door again, trying to hear some of their muffled words better. The dank wood made it almost impossible.

"Check her."

Evelyn pulled back with a gasp. She just barely managed to stifle it with both hands. Those words were clear enough. She stumbled back a few steps into the cell, all but doubling over.

She didn't remember much. Something about falling down a hole and then blacking out. Snippets of it started to come back as she breathed there in the dark, waiting. She didn't have to wait long.

The latch moved. A hand was on it from the other side. It began to turn, slowly. She could still just barely make out those voices beyond.

She had to get out. She had to get free. Whatever had happened to the other two … they had come too far to stop now. _She_ had come too far to let them take her again.

Her head spun.

Her fist clenched.

She held her breath.

The door swung open. Evelyn squinted in the sudden bright, half-crouched there in the gloom. Then her foot snapped straight into the other's chest.

Whoever had been standing there, he tumbled over backwards. She hardly wasted a moment before pouncing atop the other, snatching at his coat, and pulling back up. She twisted him around in front of her, fumbling at his waist. She found what she needed. A dagger. It slipped up to bare flash at the throat and held fast.

Evelyn paused there for a moment, muscles tensed and teeth bared. There were five others in that room. They had all glanced up at that sudden commotion in surprise. None of them moved, though. It was just as well. She hardly had the strength yet to fight them all.

Then she abruptly caught sight of those faces staring back at her – those familiar faces. And she stiffened. Her eyes were as wide as they could go.

"Evelyn."

It was Jaheira. And Khalid and Ajantis and Kivan. She gaped at them, each staring back at her. Someone else was with them, a man in heavy cloak and leathers. She didn't recognize him. But that didn't matter. None of it really mattered. They were alive.

They were _alive _…

Her head was still spinning. The druid had spoken her name – in warning. She realized that of a sudden, and blinked. The older woman had a hand raised toward her. Ajantis was scowling, hand on hilt at his side. Even Kivan's mask had cracked just that little bit.

Everything was blurring. She was staring at a pack of ghosts.

"Eve …"

She blinked away those accusing eyes, and glanced down at that one in her arms. That woman in her arms. That pink-haired young woman with one of her own daggers pressed hard to her neck. Those green eyes stared back up at her, terrified. Her neck bobbed beneath steel.

The knife fell away from her hands in an instant, and Evelyn reeled back as if burned. Her back struck stone wall, her eyes flashing uselessly away.

At least … ghosts didn't _feel _that real.

She started to slide down, staring away at nothing, horrified and too stunned to even think. The floor came up to meet her quickly.

A few more things jarred loose. She didn't even bother to try and catch them up. Instead, she stayed there for some time – she wasn't sure just how long, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Jaheira was standing over her when she finally came back. She started in surprise. But the other did not fade away.

"He said you were dead …" she barely more then breathed. Her voice was weak, pitiful. The druid only rounded on the knight who had not moved.

"How was I to know for certain?" he just growled back irritably. "We were surrounded. And no one else was taken." Jaheira only pursed her lips.

"Some of us had the sense to go quickly where arrows and heavy mail could not follow." She turned back down to the raven-haired woman. "We had the Sea of Swords at our backs. I think even a swim in those rank waters preferable to being hacked apart by the Flaming Fist." She raised an eyebrow. "_We_ were not the ones to be worried about."

Evelyn only swallowed thickly.

Somehow … she managed to find some of her voice.

"Minsc, Dynaheir?" she asked the other woman. "Xan?" she added after a moment. They weren't there. She hardly dared to hope any more.

"Fared better than _you_," the druid told her, settling both hands on her hips. "Now get up, girl. While _you_ have been resting comfortably in that dungeon, _we_ have been doing much for this foolhardy plan of yours."

A bronzed hand stuck down in front of her face. Evelyn eyed it numbly for a moment. It wouldn't have been the first time she had imagined something like it. Coran was right. _Had_ been right. Sarevok Anchev had driven her mad.

Then she took it. She took that hand. It was flesh, and blood, and real. The other pulled her quickly up.

She quickly found out that Jaheira was right. Things had gone much better for the others than she could have ever possibly imagined after she had been taken. As she leadenly made her way toward a crude stool near a table on the side of the room and plopped herself down, Jaheira's voice began gnawing at her ears once more. Aside from Commander Dosan trying to have them killed at the docks, they had not had nearly as much trouble as the three captured. Evelyn only shook her head, thoughts still swimming lazily about inside her skull and unable to believe that they had all managed to escape so easily. But the half-Elven woman had only chided Ajantis and her for how foolish and rash they had been. If Xan had been there at that moment, he would have hardly been spared the rough side of her tongue as well.

"We escaped, didn't we?" the knight only growled irritably once he got tired of listening to her. The druid flashed him a leveling eye, but it was Kivan who spoke.

"Only because we emptied the barracks first."

"Yes," the half-Elven woman canted her head. "I hardly think you would have had so much luck with a full guard detail." She folded her arms across her chest. "Not that I think your luck to have been very good at all."

At that, the curly-haired younger man just scowled.

She was speaking of Evelyn's condition, of course. The raven-haired woman blinked up sluggishly in recognition at that. She had apparently been in terrible shape when they had finally managed to get her somewhere safe. It had taken all of the druid's prowess and then some to put a goodly amount of life back into her. They told her she had actually managed to break Xan's fall on the way down into the sewers. It had been there that that secret entrance had taken them. The Elf had to carry her after that.

Ajantis and Xan had been brazen and foolish at the docks, as Jaheira never seemed to get tired of snapping at the man every time he thought to open his mouth. The knight had apparently charged into the Flaming Fist lines without a second thought, lost to the fray quickly enough. After a few hasty spells flung at the soldiers, Xan had dropped to his knees and surrendered. Neither of them had listened to Jaheira as she desperately tried to take control from behind.

They were fortunate enough that Dosan only seemed to care about Havarian after Evelyn was safe in hand. He seemed sure that the others would be killed or taken as well soon enough. He hadn't even considered the waters behind as a possibility. After Saemon Havarian had drawn that first volley, it hadn't been very difficult to flee ahead of the melee and plunge down into the Sea of Swords below. With the exception of Xan and Ajantis, none of the rest of them had seemed to hesitate. Though Khalid had to snatch Imoen up hastily enough.

"But how did you find us?" Evelyn finally managed to ask, her hands falling languidly down to the table as she twisted back around. It had been Kivan, Minsc, and Khalid in the sewers that had taken them. They had thought it a patrol. And the three had dropped both the knight and Xan before they could do much else.

"We did not waste time trying to follow Angelo Dosan and his men," Jaheira told her. "We knew where they would be taking you. And we knew just how foolish assaulting the place would be. We looked for some … help … instead."

She flashed an ever-so-sweet smile toward the nameless man standing beside them. He had remained quiet while they had talked, only grinning curiously.

"I doubt you'd remember me," he smirked at that subtle introduction, "but we have met once before."

Evelyn rounded almost listlessly back about toward that stranger. It felt as if her head would come loose as she did. But he was right. She didn't remember him.

"How could she?" Jaheira uttered quietly to one side. "You were hopelessly drunk at the time."

Not that she could remember much at all well at that moment.

The man only gave the half-Elven woman another lop-sided grin. "Not quite," was all he said.

"We had thought to speak to Alatos Thuibuld again," the druid continued, ignoring the man. "I thought," she chided sweetly, "if anyone were to know just how to break into the Flaming Fist's garrison undetected … it would be the thieves' guildmaster of the city."

"But Alatos has gone underground," that man interjected, and Evelyn swung back toward him. It was beginning to make her dizzy. _Dizzier_.

"The Flaming Fist have grown bold under their new leadership," he explained. "Foolish, most would say. They have begun moving against the thieves' guild here in force. With the deaths of two Grand Dukes and the former Commander of the Flaming Fist occurring within a handful of days of one another, the city is on the verge of martial law. A pity about Thuibuld," he added. "If one man could have helped them find the true culprits, it would have been old Ravenscar. Eltan and Scar both understood this."

"And having set you loose can hardly have helped matters much," Jaheira butted back in with a pointed look toward Evelyn.

"You picked a rather … interesting … time to visit Baldur's Gate, I would say."

Instead of finding Alatos Ravenscar at the thieves' guild house, they had found that other man. He had been the only one seemingly willing to help, what with all the other thieves in utter disarray and scurrying for the nearest rock. Commander Dosan had not wasted any time in raiding the guild.

"But they had nothing to do with Scar or Eltan," the thief assured them, "or even Entar for that matter. Alatos had nothing to gain by their deaths, and certainly much to lose. As is painfully obvious now."

"Where _is_ Duke Eltan?" Evelyn asked at some point. Her head had begun to feel just a little bit better. The dim room seemed a little more solid, at least.

But the thief just gave them a quizzical look. Jaheira shot the younger woman a hard eye.

"Resting," she said simply. "Recovering. Slowly."

"You have the Grand Duke?" the thief broke in quickly. "Here?"

Jaheira gave an exasperated sigh.

"We do now," she muttered.

It had been due to that thief, and some of his companions, that there had ultimately been so few guards inside the compound when they had made their escape.

"A distraction," was all the man said about it, with a small grin, when she asked. "Of proper size and proportion to the need."

Kivan, Khalid, and Minsc were in the sewers, heading for that secret entrance to the compound from below. The thieves had told them where to find it.

"We were to free you," Kivan told her. "But they were down in there with us before we could. There was no chance after that. We were forced to fall back and evade their patrols as best we could. It was just our luck that we found you instead."

She looked at him, but he didn't meet her eyes. He just stood their, looking irritated and impatient. She could understand.

"How long?" Evelyn asked. She finally felt well enough again to stand up. She did so, and moved back over toward them.

The druid pursed her lips. "Less than a day," she said. "We took you in last night."

Took her in? She glanced around to that cramped, dank room for a moment. "Where are we?" It didn't look so different than her last prison at least.

"Beneath the shrine of Ilmater," the thief answered. "As safe a place as any considering the situation. And a good enough hole in which to hide for the time being."

She looked back to him, but nodded. She could understand well the need not to poke her head out again just yet.

"And now I think it is time proper introductions were in order," the man continued, giving them that lopsided grin. He finally fixed on her, and stuck out a hand. "Husam Gevrille. Shadow Thief."

Evelyn stared at him. Imoen gaped. Jaheira and Khalid both noticeably tensed, and Ajantis suddenly had a hand on his hilt. Kivan seemed not to care.

But the thief held that hand out, glancing about at each of them in turn. No one took it. He hardly seemed surprised at that. He just clucked his tongue, shrugged, and pulled it back.

"A … Shadow Thief?" Jaheira finally found her voice – a cold one. Ajantis was scowling just beyond.

"As if ordinary thieves were not bad enough …" he growled.

Evelyn looked around at them, brow furrowing. They seemed to have been as surprised at that as she. However, Husam seemed hardly perturbed.

"Yes, well, sorry for misleading you," he dipped his head generously. "But there are times when subtlety works better than honesty. I am sure, given the present state of affairs, that you all quite easily understand."

But they didn't look very understanding. The half-Elven woman hardly looked pleased at being lied to at all. Her husband seemed even more ready at her side with his hands grazing scimitars. Ajantis shook his head, muttering.

"A Shadow Thief …" Evelyn mused quietly, rattling her head just a little more. She blinked up at him. "From Amn?"

The man rounded back on her with a sporting look.

"Yes …" he said slowly. "And you must be the one they're holding accountable for all those murders down in Candlekeep, if I'm not mistaken – and I rarely am." He winked at her, and then flashed her a curious look. "Quite the bit of trouble they've gone through to break you free, as it were. I suppose they're looking to put your bloody talents to use again? Seeing as the Iron Throne is far from dead …"

Evelyn only stiffened at that. Her eyes narrowed up at him.

"I didn't kill them," she voiced coldly. She hadn't. "I didn't _murder_ anyone."

The man only held her gaze evenly, almost amusedly. A harsh grunt sounded from behind.

"I suppose it was not murder to kill armed guards then, was it …" the knight grumbled just loud enough to hear. Evelyn blinked at him in surprise.

"What?" she asked, suddenly confused. Enough of her senses had seemed to come back at least. "What are you talking about?"

But the other only shook his head, scowling even deeper. His manner became suddenly self-conscious at everyone's attention being fixed on him. That did not stop his harsh tone, though.

"The two men they found _butchered_ and hidden near that hole you escaped to." He seemed suddenly like nothing so much as astonished at her. "Did you simply _forget_ their blood on your hands as you fled for your life?" He threw a hand up.

"What?" she demanded again, shaking her head, now incredulous. "I didn't _kill_ anyone," she nearly spat back at him. Not there. Not in her _home_. Now it was her turn to be appalled.

The knight's jaw tensed. But he didn't say anything. Those brown eyes merely blazed on at her for a few moments in silence, boiling over with disbelief and smoldering scorn both. She met them evenly, holding her ground. Eventually, one of them just pulled away. It was not her.

"Well," the thief broke in, tentatively, "be that as it may …" He looked to the raven-haired woman. "There must be something _quite_ special about you to warrant such concern." He raised an eyebrow at her then.

Evelyn blinked back up at him, frowning. But he couldn't have known. None of them did. She let her face smooth back over.

"It is none of your concern," Jaheira spoke in impatiently. "Now," she folded her arms across her chest, squaring off with the thief once more, "were you going to help us … or not?"

The man looked back at her. Then his face broke into another grin.

"I think I just might at that." He swept that smile about to all of them in turn. "I do know you are an enemy of the Iron Throne. And the enemy of an enemy … is a friend.

"Now … tell me," he lifted his chin, eyes glinting. "Just what do you know about a man named Sarevok Anchev …?"

* * *

"What happened to the Dark Elf?"

Evelyn didn't turn from where she stood at the window, gazing down at the deepening dark of the streets below. But she heard the other coming all the same. Those footsteps paused just beside the bed.

"I do not know," the other woman said simply, indifferently. "They made some mention of her when you returned. The paladin claimed that she vanished as soon as you entered the tunnels."

Evelyn slipped her arms up around her chest. It was just as well, she supposed. Though, she hoped she wouldn't live to regret it. The woman had helped them escape at least. She had saved Evelyn's life.

"Though I might loathe the thought of a Drow running loose in the city," the other continued, "one that _we_ helped free, no less … there are more important matters to concern ourselves with now."

Evelyn glanced back over her shoulder, briefly. Jaheira had been studying that man lying in the bed – the Grand Duke Eltan. The younger woman had come there to do the very same thing some time ago. Jaheira had frowned at that pot of daises standing beside the duke's bed. But now the druid was looking at her.

"I suppose we have followed you too far on this haphazard chase to turn away now," the woman was saying. She raised an eyebrow at Evelyn from behind. But she said nothing.

The druid nodded her head.

"I suppose your heart has been in the right place … even if your head has not."

It was quiet for a moment, as Jaheira moved over to join Evelyn in her purposeless vigil out the window. They were in the small room atop the Ilmatari shrine, where the duke had been brought to rest and recover. He had made precious little progress, but he would live at least. The resident priest was a kindly old man with a gentle heart. He had promised to tend to the man diligently so long as he stayed. It would have helped her greatly if he could have been healed quickly, but he would not be well enough in time. They would just have to settle some matters for themselves.

"The Shadow Thief claims the deaths of Commander Scar and Entar Silvershield had nothing to do with them, or Amn," the older woman mused softly. "Apparently, Sarevok has been framing them for the murders himself. Now that the other leaders of the Iron Throne are gone, he has complete control over their assets. And he is to become duke." She flashed the younger woman a pointed look. "The signs are obvious," she told her. "Sarevok Anchev means to start a war."

Evelyn only shook her head, her eyes lingering on a sparrow as it soared swiftly past the window.

"Why would he want to do that?"

"Many reasons." The half-Elven woman pursed her lips. "Fame. Glory." She flashed Evelyn an eyebrow. "Men will, and always have, done a great many foolish things to bring themselves to power. And many more once they have it." She gave the younger woman another meaningful look. "I think the more important question is … why would _you_ be so important to such a man as that in the first place? He killed Gorion to get to you, Evelyn – that much has been obvious." She shook her head. "He has done a great many things to get to you." Her voice dropped low. "What makes _you_ so important …?"

The other was staring at her. Evelyn's eyes flashed up to meet hers briefly.

"I don't know," she answered simply enough.

It wasn't a lie. Not really. Even if she had that secret from them – why would Sarevok want her so desperately? Could he have known? Gorion had tried to warn her about him in that letter. But what if he did? What could he possibly want with a … a … whatever she was …

She shook her head.

"Well," the older woman broke back in on her thoughts swiftly, twisting her eyes away, "whatever it is … he certainly seems to just want you dead more than anything. He obviously sees you as some sort of threat."

She thought about that for a moment. But it still didn't make much sense. She supposed she _was_ the biggest threat to him just then. But that was only because he had intruded upon her peaceful little world and torn it apart in the first place. She would never have done any of those things if Gorion had not died. That innocent young girl her father had raised so diligently would still be alive. And so would he. No, it could not have been that alone.

"I don't know." She just shook her head again.

But the other woman reached over, and rested a hand on her arm.

"Gorion wanted you to live, Evelyn," she said softly. "Gorion saw something special in you from the very beginning, something important enough to give his own life for if need be. For that alone," she smiled kindly at her of a sudden, "I would think the same."

She held that look on her face for several moments. But Evelyn didn't return it. Eventually, the other's smoothed over once more.

"Gorion will have his vengeance," the older woman continued, "and so will we. This Sarevok has taken much from us. He has tried to unmake the order of things at every turn, and shape it to his own will. He is a being of chaos, and we will preserve the balance in disposing of him and his plans, whatever they ultimately may be."

She squeezed that hand on Evelyn's arm, and her voice was gentle once more.

"But I would not have you sacrifice yourself for him … as Gorion did for you." Her lips curled into a sad smile. "You are his child, Evelyn. He would not ever ask it of you."

Evelyn was staring back at the other woman, hard. Her face was still smooth.

Eventually, Jaheira just sighed … and looked away.

"And I would ask you not to charge on so blindly and foolishly by yourself," she chided then. "Khalid and I are with you. The rest of them too, I am sure of it. We have lost you twice now in so short a time." She glanced back toward the younger woman. "Do not forsake our counsel again, Evelyn. Please."

She stared at the other. Jaheira met her gaze, unflinching, a soft smile on her lips. She raised an eyebrow at the younger woman. It was quiet for several, long moments.

Then, Evelyn just barely nodded.

The druid smiled full then, pleasantly. She looked away, and her voice suddenly had that old fervor once more.

"So," she began loudly, chidingly, "what does the great and fearsome terror of Baldur's Gate think we should do now?"

The other flipped her mane of hair lightly, flashing her an ironic look. Evelyn only glanced back up at her.

"I think we should pay them a visit," she said slowly, evenly. She didn't have to say just who. And Jaheira's grin only broadened then at that.

"I was thinking the very same thing."


	78. Chapter 7 Storming the Gates

_**Storming the Gates**_

"What do you think?"

Evelyn was fingering the tiny stones of the necklace Imoen had given her back in Candlekeep, hanging about her neck. Her eyes were fixed ahead, and she didn't look away. The other woman made a disapproving sound in her throat. She merely shook her head.

"I do not know."

The druid was studying that same scene she was – that they had been for the better part of an hour. It was not the one that either of them had expected. It was not the one she met the last time she had been there.

It was still early in the night, but there were only a few lights shining dimly in the many windows of the Iron Throne building. And there were no guards. The front doors were hanging half-open – they had watched at least a few merchants hurrying through with what looked like everything they could have stuffed inside under their coats. On into the night they hurried, without looking back.

Not at all like the last time. No one was chasing them down with blades and blood.

Jaheira only kept shaking her head. And Evelyn looked up to that one window she well remembered from before. It was still broken – a gaping hole in the side of that tomb. That, at least, was the same.

She shivered, briefly, against the memory.

It was not raining this time, not yet, though dark clouds choked the sky full above. And there was no vengeance to be wreaked there in the streets. Evelyn turned to the older woman. She was still studying that scene with a heavy frown upon her face.

"I do not like it," she mumbled quietly. Her eyes waggled about. "It is most likely a trap."

But Evelyn only shook her head slowly. "How would they know that we were coming?"

"A spy," the other offered readily. "The Shadow Thief?" She chewed at her knuckle thoughtfully. "He might well claim to be against Sarevok Anchev, but I would not be so foolish as to trust their kind. Not so far. And this man has proved all too clever thus far. He could very well just assume the worst."

Evelyn glanced back toward the building. Then up at the dark clouds lining the night sky above. It didn't really matter.

"We stick with our plan, then," she offered. The druid nodded her head simply after a moment. Evelyn looked to the building leaning over them to one side. It stood almost just opposite that of the Iron Throne across the cobbled street.

"They will be waiting for us."

Jaheira had already turned back, striding briskly away without another word. Evelyn only lingered a moment more, remembering. It would be different this time. She wasn't going alone. And she wouldn't be leading anyone to their doom.

No. This time … it was that place that would be cracked and bleeding before the night was through. This time, she was going to tear the Iron Throne down around her. And Sarevok would _bleed_.

* * *

Khalid thrust himself over the side of the building, looking down. Then, he twisted back around.

"Now."

The arrow was already hurtling free from Kivan's bow. He let it go, and then stepped quickly aside. It sailed through the night, across the street, silently into that broken window above.

"Check it."

Minsc held one end of the rope, the other had vanished through that bore. Ajantis was already pulling it taut. He nodded.

"It will hold."

"Good," Jaheira canted her head at them. She turned back toward the Iron Throne building across. Minsc had some of that one end wound tightly about his wrist.

Evelyn glanced toward the rope, spanning that long drop between the closed warehouse beneath them and the Iron Throne building ahead. Then she looked briefly to Kivan. He had hardly seemed worried. But firing an arrow was one thing. Firing an arrow with more than fifty yards of rope bound tight to it was another. It had taken the stoutest arrow they could find. It was a miracle he had not missed

Evelyn was already moving toward the building's edge, and their end of it. Jaheira's hand caught her arm.

"Not you," the older woman said. Then she gestured toward the pink-haired woman. "She is the slightest of us. She will go."

Evelyn looked sharply to her best friend. That was her risk to take. _Hers_. There was no telling if the line would even hold up her weight – no telling if Kivan had even caught anything sturdy enough with that hatchet-headed arrow. But her best friend, for once, was eerily calm.

With only a deep breath, Imoen stepped up to the edge past Evelyn, took one handful of rope, and sat down across it. She bounced on the weight a little – it held – and she frowned. She glanced back toward them.

"Here goes nothing," she said.

Then she swung her legs over, and fell.

Evelyn watched that scene for a long time. It was for an eternity that her best friend vanished into the dark below. But, eventually, she reemerged ahead, shimmying her way along the rope with hands and feet. It was another eternity that she hung there, inching her way up before she was swallowed into the night – the last stretched on the longest.

Then the rope went slack.

The breath caught in Evelyn's throat. But the thing only shook a moment later.

"She's across," Ajantis declared quietly. Evelyn was already pushing past him without waiting for another word.

It was her turn.

It was harder than it looked. Even though she hardly had to worry so much about the line falling short of a sudden now, it still took some effort to make herself move at an appreciable pace. She was stronger than her best friend, though, and managed to struggle along a little better after a while. It would take long enough to get the rest of them across as it was, and every moment risked discovery and that line being swiftly snapped on the other side. It was dangerous, but no one could have expected it. The place seemed quiet enough. They would just slip in and back out without anyone the wiser.

As she finally started pulling herself up along the side of the Iron Throne building, though, hand over hand, she wondered if risking the front door wouldn't have been better. She remembered all too well that night not so long ago, and she dared not look down for the life of her. The sewer entrance had been sealed shut from the inside. They had checked that first.

Eventually, she was pulling herself up and over a familiar ledge. Then she threw herself inside a dark room.

Footsteps sounded quickly. Imoen was there, helping her up.

"Shhh," the other woman pressed a finger to her lips in the dark. "There's someone out there."

She gestured back over her shoulder to the closed door. Evelyn nodded. If there was, then it was just their luck that they had heard nothing. Yet. She gestured silently for Imoen to stay, and then she picked her way carefully across the room.

The place was in the same terrible shape she had left it more than a week ago. It was an effort not to crunch on broken glass underfoot. She managed to avoid most of it, and then slipped down with her ear against wood. She could already hear those muffled voices.

"… I will not debate that he is in control, Gregor, but whatever his plans, they certainly do not have the good of the Iron Throne in mind. He has abandoned us in favor of his new position. We are to be cast off! And I would not be surprised if he marched the Flaming Fist through her tomorrow as a show of his stance on mercantile crime!"

"What does it matter, Dhanial? Everything is in shambles …"

"Well … I doubt that he will settle into a nice, quiet political life," that first voice – a woman's – persisted. "He seems set on causing as much destruction as possible, and I think he is intent on pushing for war with Amn."

Evelyn listened. They were quiet, hushed and low. The other – the man – growled back at the first.

"And what would you have me do, Dhanial? My father was barely a day dead when he made his claim. Now everything is crumbling. I should have seen it coming."

But that woman only seemed to grow more irritated with him.

"Then _do_ something about it, Gregor! With Entar Silvershield dead and the new captain of the guard in his pocket, he has no more use for us. He's moving onto bigger things, and you owe it, Gregor, to Brunos, to at _least_–"

"The only thing I _owe_ the old man is a blade in that traitor's belly before the day is through. Gods help me, if I just had the chance …"

"The people _believe_ in him, Gregor," the woman broke in gently. "And it will take more than a blade to reduce his stature in their eyes. He has fed their fears and now offers himself as a savior. That is more than anyone has been able to give them so far."

The man only grumbled. Then he abruptly went silent. They both did.

"It's that little twit," the man snapped suddenly. "Gods. He's done enough to this place without turning it into his own little brothel as well. Letting his whores run _freely_ about …"

"Quick!" the woman hissed, "before she sees us together!"

"You know what they'd say," the man merely grumbled.

But then footfalls sounded clearly on marble. They hurried away, and faded. Another set, calm and steady replaced them soon enough.

The door cracked open. Evelyn peeked an eye through, too narrow to see much. Whoever those two had been, they were gone. And she didn't see any whores stalking past. Instead, her eyes went suddenly wide.

A woman was striding by. She was dressed in dark regalia, head straight and shoulders back. Her bearing was calm, cool, and collected, brooking nothing short of sincere respect. It was a quiet pride, though – a tacitly accepted confidence nestled in the honey-colored flesh of her smoothed, determined face. It was a familiar face. And memory stabbed at Evelyn suddenly out of it. It swallowed her whole for a moment.

When she came back, blinking, those dark tilted eyes had not seen her. The woman continued past, staring purposefully straight ahead.

Evelyn glanced back over her shoulder toward Imoen. She could just make out the woman helping someone over the ledge and in through the broken window. It would have been Khalid.

Those footsteps sounded just outside the door. Evelyn waited until they had passed. She felt something cold settle over and down inside of her at the sound. It burrowed just beneath her shoulder into a cold, stabbing pain. She turned the latch and slipped outside without another thought.

That woman was striding briskly away along the hall. Evelyn fell in swiftly behind her, sparing only a brief glance toward the open balcony beside as she picked up speed.

She pounced into the air, and came down hard on the woman from behind. Her fist bludgeoned back of skull and they both crumpled quickly down to the floor.

Evelyn didn't even waste a second. She thrust herself up from her knees and was dragging that senseless form over and aside into another room. She paused briefly with her ear to the door. But no one was inside.

She dropped the body there, in that small, dark space. Then she stepped away to check the hall briefly once more. It was clear. No one had noticed. She would be quick, and then she would get back to the others before anyone did.

When she turned back around, however …

The woman was looming there in the dark waiting for her.

Something struck her face, and suddenly Evelyn was stumbling back. She caught herself at the door, her nose numb and unsure if it was bleeding. It took her a moment, but she realized that that something was a fist.

She didn't have long to act surprised, though. That woman was hurtling forward, knee thrusting up for her stomach. Evelyn still had enough sense left to throw herself aside ahead of it. The other hammered hard into the wood of the door instead, splintering it.

Whirling around, Evelyn's own fist swept about toward the back of the other's head. But she caught it instantly with one arm, ducking low. Her other hand flashed in at Evelyn's ribs, forcing her back. And then her boot swept up for her face.

Evelyn bent low beneath the swing, thrusting back up only to have two more fists hammer into her chest. She stumbled back again, tripped on something in the dark, and tumbled over.

The other woman started after her, and Evelyn quickly turned the fall into a roll. The woman leapt into the air, slamming down hard to the floor just behind her. Evelyn came back up, and so did the other. Her boot took that woman in the face.

Or it should have. All of a sudden, she couldn't move her leg. It held fast in the other's arms. In the next moment, she felt a push, and she threw herself up and over, landing low on both feet once more. A knee was swinging in at the side of her skull.

Evelyn went down with a grunt, but not before throwing her leg wildly into the other's chest. Before the woman could follow her, they were both tumbling away.

The other was back on her feet instantly, and already leaping toward her. Evelyn didn't even bother to get up. She snatched free Fuller's dagger, and threw. A sharp cry was her only answer, and then that dark form was falling away.

Evelyn pounced without another thought, slipping free the Kara-Turian blade from her side. She came down on the other's chest, and slid it in at her neck. The woman finally stilled at that.

It was quiet for only a moment. Those dark eyes glared up at her. Then Evelyn raised a fist. The other woman glanced down toward the steel.

"You carry one of the honor-blades," she whispered fiercely up at Evelyn, her voice deathly quiet, "but you are not one of them." Her eyes suddenly glinted brightly in the dark. "Where I come from, you would be _killed_."

Evelyn narrowed her own eyes, and paused. But it didn't matter. She started reeling back once more.

"Do you not recognize me?" the other persisted, her voice still unable to rise beyond that strained whisper. It was challenging, yet demure – spiteful, yet almost polite.

Evelyn didn't make any sign. She just clenched her hand tighter.

"I would have hoped so," the woman continued, flashing her teeth. "The last we saw of each other, I was putting a fire to your neck."

Evelyn felt her jaw twinge. That flash of memory again. She glared coldly down at the other.

"You missed."

She could almost have felt the pain of that night in that very moment. She carried it around inside of her always. But she blanked it out. It was not her who had caused the greatest.

"Did I?" the woman breathed. Her throat bobbed beneath the steel. "It was dark."

The other gave her a tight-lipped grin. Evelyn returned it tersely in kind. Then her fist was hammering swiftly back down.

"You are looking for him," the woman whispered quickly, all in one breath. Evelyn's hand paused, hovering an inch above the other's face. She did not flinch. "Are you not?"

Evelyn only stared at her. The woman was calm, unflappable. Eve didn't say a word.

"Can you … _feel_ him?" the other whispered when she did nothing more. Those black eyes searched hers briefly. "He hates you, you know."

She only pressed steel tighter until the other shut up.

"You're going to tell me where he is," she growled back low. "Now."

A small smile spread slowly across those dark lips. Then she stretched to free her throat ahead of steel.

"Perhaps we could help each other."

But Evelyn only pushed the blade up again to meet her. And now she only had that much more trouble breathing.

"I didn't say anything about helping you. The only thing I need for you to do is to tell me where he is right _now._"

Steel bit sharply into flesh, and the other flashed her teeth. Then she was suddenly cold. Ice cold and calm. Her black eyes met Evelyn's own.

"He is not here." Those tilted eyes narrowed. "And I will not tell you where to find him. Not yet."

Evelyn only pulled the blade back, moving to slice.

"Then I'll find someone who will."

"But I will help you stop him," the other continued quickly, evenly. The blade stopped.

"Oh?" she bent down close. "And why would I want you to do that?"

The other just stared at her for a moment. And then she grimaced, shaking her head ever so slightly.

"You are strong," she murmured quietly, "and set in your path. Or so you think. Such brash manner – so much like him, and so unlike Gorion. Don't you think?"

At that, Evelyn suddenly had her teeth bared and pressed within inches of the other's face.

"And what do _you_ know about my father?"

The only thing she _could_ know … was how he had cried out when he had died for her that night – when they had murdered him instead of her.

"Much, I would say," the other said. "More than you, I would think." Her eyes glinted. "But Gorion is not the family of which I know. And he is not the family that knows you now."

Evelyn scowled at her, narrowing her eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

The other took a breath, struggling. "There are three things that are strength incarnate," she said. "There is love of life. There is fear of death. And there is family. A family that loves death would have a strong pull indeed." The woman's eyes abruptly fixed hard on hers. "Can you … feel it? I think so." Her head bobbed ever so slightly. "I think you feel the pull, and I think you strain against it still."

Evelyn had gone still, her face slackening as her eyes grew wide. The other was not done, though.

"But has your family shed its ties to you?" that soft, whispering voice bit up gently, insistently. "No," it chided. "I think not. I think you feel that pull, and I think you have gone where it has led. Perhaps you are also equally doomed." She shook her head just so. "I wonder if your paths could have crossed any other way? Doubtful. Children fight for father's favor."

And Evelyn was only shaking her head back.

"I don't …" she managed, but her voice caught in her throat.

The other smiled up at her.

And then a hand was suddenly slamming into her face.

The woman beneath her twisted, slapping the blade at her neck aside and to the floor even as Evelyn toppled back. She dropped the steel, and threw herself over, rolling away. When she leapt back to her feet in the next instant, the other was waiting there for her with the blade.

The woman did not move. Evelyn expected her too. Her jaw tensed and her fists clenched. But the other made no move.

The Kara-Turian blade was flying through the air between them, then. Evelyn caught it easily in one hand. But the other had only tossed it back to her. Evelyn looked up in surprise.

"Atop this building is a woman whose influence is a poison in Sarevok's soul," the woman whispered quickly, wiping a hand self-consciously against the sleeve of her dress. "Cythandria is her name, and she holds much power in this matter. She seeks Sarevok's favor, though she is content if he self-destructs, so long as she profits in the deed."

Evelyn frowned. And then she opened her mouth. Someone beat her to it, though.

"_Eve_!"

A voice hissed low out in the hall past the closed door. She twisted around toward it. It was Imoen. When she looked back, the other woman was gone.

Evelyn stared for a moment. Then she took a step forward in surprise. That quiet voice suddenly sounded from across the room.

"We will speak again." The other was standing at an open window. "But I must go. He cannot know I have helped you."

Evelyn started forward, but she was too late. The other was gone in the next moment, vanishing up and out into the night. The cold wind beat at her instead. It smelled of rain.

"E-Evelyn!"

It was Khalid's voice.

Evelyn rounded back on the closed door. Then she started quickly toward it, leaving the dark room and the open window behind.

They were waiting for her back out in the hall – Khalid, Imoen, Kivan, Minsc, and Dynaheir – all keeping quiet and out of sight to the floor through the balcony below. The ranger gave her a dubious look as she emerged from the room behind him, a few more fresh bruises added to her face.

"What were you doing?" he asked. His eyes flashed briefly back toward the door with its knee-smashed hole she closed quickly behind. She just shook her head.

"Nothing."

"The r-rope is c-cut," Khalid told her as she stepped close. She nodded.

"Minsc?"

The towering Rashemi canted his tattooed head. He must have been the most difficult of all to bring up, and the last. But she could think of no one better.

"Upstairs," the half-Elven man uttered. She had told them that was where they should go. And she did not object.

Khalid started swiftly away, the rest of them on his heels.

They reached those stairs Evelyn remembered now so well quickly enough. The half-Elven man paused for only a moment, listening. And then he started up. They could all hear those voices before they reached the top.

"The thieves can take all they wish … I know I will. I just want out of here."

"Now, now, Pang. That's the spirit. Or rather … these are. Have some more! Don't be shy."

"And make me no better."

That man was downing a small glass as they crested the stairs. And he did not notice them filing out and quickly surrounding the bar before he was done. It was only the two men. And that one drinking nearly jumped out of his stool when he finally caught sight of them.

"Who-" he coughed, choked, and spluttered. "Who the bloody hell are all of _you_?"

They had weapons bared and ready, though no one made a move just yet. The fat man behind the bar hardly batted an eye. And when Evelyn stepped up beside Khalid, his face suddenly broke into a grin.

"Why, hello Evelyn," he greeted cheerily of a sudden. She blinked at him in surprise. "I supposed we should have expected your coming here. Bit of an unfortunate business in Candlekeep, eh wot?"

The fat man chuckled to himself, giving her a wink. The one on the other side of the bar only coughed once more, and looked aghast.

"Evelyn," he spluttered. Then he glanced hurriedly around at the others. "Wirthing, you old fool! These are the ones what murdered Rieltar!"

The man was on his feet in an instant, knife flashing in his hand and lunging right at her. Before Evelyn could have even thought to do anything, though, Khalid was already moving, twin scimitars whirling. That other man was dead before he even left his seat. His corpse flung ahead and down at her feet.

The fat man behind the bar had not moved, but Khalid was leveling steel on his heart next just the same. And so was Minsc. Imoen had a hand on her sleeve.

"A pity that. Poor Pang," was all the man said, ruefully. "Could have gone a little _easier_ on the old bugger."

Khalid gestured curtly with his head. The ranger and Minsc didn't waste a moment more before hurrying away, scouring the rest of the room. Dynaheir moved off a little, eyes intent and following her guardian as he searched. Imoen took up vigil by the stairs, peering up toward the next. It left the half-Elven man and Evelyn at the bar, with that man.

"A-anyone?" Khalid asked when Kivan came briefly back into sight from one of those other rooms. The ranger only shook his head and kept searching, bow low but ready. Evelyn rounded on the fat man behind the bar.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "Where is Sarevok?"

She didn't care whatever that strange woman had said. She was going to find him one way or another.

"Sarevok?" the man gave her a curious look. "Oh, yes. I suppose you'll be lookin' fer _revenge_ … or some other rot, wouldn't ye, aye?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "It would seem that he sacrificed our leaders just to discredit you … so I'm thinking … knowing that you were perhaps the only ones that stood in his way."

He glanced up toward the ceiling for a moment. "Of course, he _also_ became our leader of the Iron Throne himself." Those lilting eyes fixed back on her with a sudden, ironic look. "I am afraid we were just as much the unwitting dupes of Sarevok Anchev as you were." Then, he shrugged, as if it were nothing.

But it was not nothing. Nothing he had done to them could ever have amounted to what he had done to her.

Evelyn only took an angry step forward. "Where is he now?" she growled. "_Now_."

The other spared a brief look to Khalid's scimitars still poised beside him, hesitating. Then he blinked back toward her.

"Well, he is quite beyond needing us now," the fat man continued. He clucked his tongue. "Such disrespect, to throw us away as he did." And shook his head. "But you'll not find him here. No, I'm afraid not here, lass. If you seek _him_," he bobbed his fleshy head, "well, then I would look towards the Ducal Palace. There is to be a coronation there soon. Tomorrow night, I believe." He sucked in a deep, thoughtful breath. "It will likely give him power enough to do what he wishes in this city. More so than he already has anyways. I imagine the fates of the remaining present Dukes will be much the same as that of Entar as well."

Evelyn looked away, scowling. Khalid glanced over at her.

"The D-Ducal palace will be t-too well guarded," he told her. "He would be beyond our r-reach."

She didn't bother to turn that scowl on him. It wasn't his fault. He was right. He was right, and that meant that they were too late already. Probably. But that woman had seemed eager for her help. Why? No, it was a trick. There was nothing left to do. If only she hadn't let herself get caught …

Kivan and Minsc came back. That place was empty. Just like every other time before since Gorion had died, she was always just one step too far behind.

She turned back around.

"Of course," that fat man began anew of a sudden, pulling her back, "the old boy's got a few of his blokes running around 'ere, finishing the place up and what not." He gestured with his fleshy head toward those stairs leading up. "One o' his girls is upstairs, last I knew. Maybe she'd know better."

He shrugged, and gave them a broad grin. Evelyn only narrowed her eyes. But Khalid started moving before she could say anything more.

He clubbed the fat man swiftly over the head with the hilt of one of his blades, and then strode past her to the stairs. Evelyn didn't hesitate before following him up in his wake.

"S-Stay here," the half-Elven man ordered Imoen as he passed. She looked to Evelyn, frowning, but nodded her head. Evelyn gestured to Minsc too, and the giant Rashemi lingered. Khalid took lightly to the steps, the raven-haired woman just beside. Dynaheir and Kivan fell in swiftly behind.

They spilled out onto the highest level now. Evelyn remembered that place all too well. As they spread quickly and quietly across that empty place, her eyes only fixed on that spot on the floor, and she slowed. There was no blood, but she didn't need any to know the truth of it. She had been there. And Yeslick's tomb was still just as blasted and wrecked as she had left it.

There was a voice ahead. Evelyn's eyes flashed up instantly at the sound of it. Khalid hurried ahead to the opposite side of that open space, sliding up against the wall. Kivan did the same to the other side as they flanked that corridor leading ahead. Dynaheir hung back a step. Evelyn moved up to join them.

"You realize, of course, the _importance_ of this envoy …"

She edged up behind the ranger. It was a woman's voice drifting out of that passage. Kivan gestured with a hand low for her to stay. For the moment, she was content to listen.

"Then I demand to know just _what_ has been going on there …"

The door at the end of the hall was open, the voice coming from within. Another woman's joined it, but Evelyn couldn't make out that one's words.

"We here in Sembia have become quite concerned of late as to why this branch of the Iron Throne has floundered. The last report we received was about the destruction of the Cloakwood mines. The existence of that outpost was to be kept _secret_. Just where _has_ Rieltar been sticking his head this whole time?"

A pause. Then that cool voice was incredulous.

"Sarevok? That upstart? Such arrogance! As if this was some sort of inheritance. No doubt he had a hand in their demise!"

That second woman was speaking. Evelyn only caught the taunting tone of her voice.

"Enough! No matter. Consider yourself dismissed. The Iron Throne washes its hands of that place, and shall support it no longer. You are no longer needed. None of you. Consider your employment with my superiors terminated. Good day and goodbye."

The voice stopped speaking, and Evelyn noticed that room suddenly grew dimmer. She glanced at the ranger, but he only snatched her back from the corner. She heard the door at the end of the hall suddenly open all the way.

Dynaheir had pulled back beside Khalid. The half-Elven man looked over to them. Kivan only nodded. Brisk footsteps clipped quickly down the hall.

A woman emerged abruptly, all in flowing regalia of shimmering hue and cut. Her face was curled back into a smug grin. But only for a moment. As soon as she caught sight of those to either side of her, she came up fast.

Khalid's scimitars were swinging for her head in an instant. They were at either side of her neck before she could do anything. They hung there for a moment, tight, ready to close and pop her skull off.

Kivan and Dynaheir slipped around so that woman could see them. She was not grinning anymore, forced up on her tiptoes and eyes darting wildly about. Evelyn followed.

"The other one," she whispered. But the ranger was already moving. He darted toward that room, and slipped inside.

Evelyn snatched a dagger free from where it hung at the woman's waist, and tossed it away. Kivan reappeared at the end of the hall, shaking his head.

"Where is she?" Evelyn demanded. The woman only blinked down in surprise.

"She … she was never here."

Evelyn frowned at that, but Dynaheir spoke up before she could.

"A magical projection."

She glanced toward the Rashemi, but came quickly back to the woman. The other abruptly fixed Evelyn anew.

"_You_," the woman exclaimed, throat bobbing above steel. Then she quickly found her nerve again. "So … you've come back. If you were smart, you would have left well enough alone."

Kivan came up behind her. Khalid glanced over, but kept his blades just loose enough for her to speak. For the moment, Evelyn said nothing, and that only seemed to goad the other on more.

"I do not know how you managed to escape my lord's trap at Candlekeep," she taunted, uncaring for the steel at her throat, "but you won't be getting any further here." That look for the raven-haired woman then was scornful.

"Why _did_ you come back here?" she suddenly asked. "I would have thought you'd go after Sarevok directly …"

Evelyn only edged forward at that.

"Tell me where he is and I will."

She gave the other woman the most predatory smile she could.

"A very amusing notion." The other narrowed her eyes with a slight purse of her lips. "But I would _never_ betray my lord. I am Cythandria … his consort. I have been with him since before he knew of his _true_ heritage." She tried to straighten even more where she stood. "The heritage _you_ share." Her voice dropped low. "He will be pleased to know that I have killed you."

Evelyn only flashed her eyes slowly up at the woman. She took a step closer, and their faces were mere inches apart.

"And just how were you going to do that?"

The other only smiled at her.

They stared at one another, for several long moments. Then Evelyn abruptly smiled back.

"How do you think we got up here?"

At that, the other woman's face suddenly smoothed. It was calm for only a moment more. Then her eyes began darting frantically about anew.

Evelyn opened her mouth again, still smiling as viciously as she could.

"Now I'm going to ask you one more time," she began slowly, quietly.

She cocked her head to one side.

"Where is Sarevok now?"

Cythandria hesitated. Her eyes swept across each of them quickly in turn. Then they came back to the raven-haired woman before her. For her part, Evelyn had already started reaching for her knife. The other abruptly opened her mouth.

But a sudden, roaring cry cut her off. Evelyn twisted back around toward the stairs.

It was Minsc. That much was instantly obvious. She couldn't see what was going on below, but it was easy enough to guess just what would. She heard steel ring quickly a moment later.

Khalid dropped one blade, swinging the other around and forcing Cythandria roughly back into the side of the hall, steel still close at her throat. Kivan pushed the Rashemi past and behind them. He had an arrow knocked and ready.

Evelyn growled in her throat. She could easily hear the struggle below, but it didn't last long. She snatched her staff in hand, knuckles white about the wood. Imoen was down there. It was just her and the Rashemi. And if there were many coming up to meet them, then the two could hardly have dared hold out for long. If they were lucky, it was just another guard or two.

"Watch her!" Evelyn shout back over her shoulder as she started forward, stabbing a hand toward the woman in Khalid's hold. She was charging toward the stairwell.

But the fighting had stopped, as abruptly as it had begun. She heard the hurried footsteps. They were on the stairs swiftly enough.

Evelyn slowed. Imoen's head abruptly popped out from the stairwell below. Then the raven-haired woman stopped dead in her tracks. It wasn't Minsc who followed on herbest friend's heels behind.

Something flung the pink-haired woman up haphazardly atop the steps. And then a grip of iron snatched her right back up to her feet. A long, curved blade settled across her throat and chest.

Evelyn tensed, but she hardly needed to shout that warning to Kivan and the others. The ranger held his fire. For the moment. Her hand flew back anyways.

The cry died on her lips. And her eyes flashed wide in surprise. Four more armed and armored figures were crowding the landing in the next instant, pushing the other woman ahead between them. Evelyn lost a few hasty steps back. She didn't even have to look twice to recognize those dusky faces. They had met her there once before.

It was all of them – all except that one with the knives that Yeslick had killed. She remembered them well enough. Especially the one in his dark coat over woven plates who came to stand before them now. He no longer had that halberd. Instead, a short haft with the longest blade she had ever seen rested back easily on one metal shoulder. It looked as if it were made for nothing more than cutting men in half.

That man moved his eyes across each of them in turn, slowly. They settled at the last on her. A smile spread over his face. Evelyn's only fell, and hardened.

"So … you _did_ survive," Zhalimar Cloudwulfe voiced with no small amount of amusement. "And you have come slinking back here." His dark lips curled up even further, eyes glinting. "It saves us the trouble of hunting you down …"

"Let her go," was all Evelyn could say. Her voice was low, cold, and full of sudden venom. Imoen was staring up at them, eyes wide and terrified. But her best friend's had fixed firmly on that man at their lead. The blood in her veins boiled over with cold fire.

Zhalimar laughed, chuckling low to himself. "Who? Her?" He glanced toward the girl in Gardush's grasp. "Why spare the trouble? None of you will be leaving this place alive."

"We will k-kill her," Khalid suddenly spoke up from behind. He tightened his steel grip on Cythandria until she made a sharp noise in her throat. Zhalimar looked over at the woman. He laughed once more.

"Go ahead," he told them. "She is but a tool of the Lord Sarevok. A consort, no less. He will find another." That grin did not leave his face.

Cythandria's froze. And then all of her flesh seemed to twitch, twisting as she boiled over with sudden overwhelming rage. She forgot that blade at her throat for a moment, nearly pushing through it. Her hands were skeletal claws down at her sides.

"You witless fool!" she shrieked at Zhalimar across the room. "How _dare_ you! My lord Sarevok will cut your tongue out and gut you for the pig you are if he learns you let them harm even a _hair _upon my head!"

"_Our_ Lord," the man rounded on her briefly, "knows well our usefulness. And when it has come to an end," he added simply. "We are all tools to his ascension. _Easily_ replaced." He shook his head. "Lord Sarevok will not trouble himself much over the loss of another _plaything_."

Again, he laughed. Some of those others joined in with him from behind.

Cythandria slumped back behind, seeming so suddenly awestruck and incredulous. Her whole body shook. For the moment, Khalid's blade was the only thing keeping her on her feet. None of them paid her anymore mind.

"Be r-ready once we have I-Imoen," Khalid whispered hurriedly over at the Rashemi witch. She only shook her head quickly.

"Minsc …"

"He is dead," the ranger cut her off. Evelyn heard none of it.

She saw Yeslick's face. It mirrored Imoen's then – broken, bloodied, and dead. That was his murderer. That was his killer ... and his hands were on her best friend.

"I said," she repeated, even lower, and colder than before, "let her go."

Zhalimar's brow furrowed at her, eyes twinkling with that same humor. She could barely see him. Her skull was thumping. She just let it.

"As you would have it," he offered generously.

The man grinned wide. The others had already tensed behind him. The room grew deathly quiet but for that creak of steel and leather. It was deafening. The pounding in her veins quickly drowned it all out.

Finally, Zhalimar nodded his head.

"Gardush?"

He glanced over at the other man. That one only flexed his wrist.

Imoen blinked. And the curved blade started to slide.

For Evelyn, it all just seemed to slow.

An arrow took Gardush in the shoulder. Evelyn had been ready. She was already moving. She outran it. That arm twitched off Imoen's chest, and the man stumbled back a step, grunting loud. The pink-haired woman only stood there, eyes wide in shock. It all happened in the space of a breath.

That massive blade bounced off Zhalimar's shoulder. Evelyn was there, right before them. The other three behind had already begun to move.

But they were too slow. Far, far too slow.

Her hand snatched up a fistful of Imoen's coat, and the other woman was abruptly hurtling over back behind her. Gardush blinked up to her baring her teeth down on him. Then he was hurtling away too.

Aasim threw his mace at her. He was whirling over onto his back before he knew what had happened. Another swung in with a hammer. Her own struck him as an elbow in the chest. Light had flared up in Alai's hand. Diyab flew backwards into him and they both went down.

Shouting erupted suddenly. Evelyn wrenched back around toward Yeslick's killer last, all teeth and claws and blinding hate. A wooden haft was there to meet her, though. It clubbed her quickly right in the head.

She hit the ground on her back, and something jarred loose with the breath that shot out of her lungs. Her head started spinning. A blade came about above her, sweeping down toward it.

Khalid was there. Twin scimitars whirled in to meet hafted blade and turn it back. For a moment, it worked. For a moment, Evelyn managed to shake herself free and crawl away.

Another arrowed hissed overhead. Those four on the floor were struggling back to their feet. Khalid and Zhalimar both grunted. Evelyn threw herself toward where Imoen was climbing back up. She almost collapsed into the other woman, but those slim arms caught her.

"Eve!"

A voice roared from somewhere far away. She thought she saw Cythandria, standing free at the end of the hall. But then a hand caught her from the side and sent both her and Imoen roughly back to the ground.

Fire burst overhead.

The whole building shook. Flames exploded every which way. They swallowed everything, and she was sure that they were all gone in that instant. Searing heat blasted her side. Flesh scratched along cracked marble as her fallen body was blown clear backwards and away.

Her skull cracked the wall. She cried out sharply, her limbs flailing. Every muscle twitched at once, and she went numb. She was on her back, blinking up at the flames flying free and vengefully devouring everything overhead. It scorched her skin. She tried to twist over and away from it onto herside.

The inferno howled past.

Smoke blasted her from above. She choked on it, gagging on the black smell of burning wood. Somehow, she managed to throw herself back up to her feet, stumbling wildly.

She was the only one left standing.

Kivan had forced them aside. Now he lay still, face down atop Imoen's legs. Dynaheir was sprawled out along further back down the hallway. It was even more of a blasted mess than it had been before.

Smoke trailed everywhere, and pockets of flame crackled along the walls and marble floor. She couldn't know what had done it. But her eyes caught sight of a familiar form struggling to her feet ahead. Evelyn waved away choking air, and stumbled toward her.

Cythandria didn't see her coming – not until it was too late. And then she only had time to throw up a hand before Evelyn reached her. Light sprung to her fingertips, flaring into the raven-haired woman. She staggered, grunting. But then she had the woman's fine blouse in both of her hands and was slamming her back into the wall.

"Where is he?" she hissed at the other, wrenching her back around and up.

The sound of her own voice in the crackling stillness hurt her ears. The other woman's eyes were hard and set. It was a thin veneer, though. Fear was bleeding fiercely through the cracks along with the blood pouring out of her broken nose. Evelyn slammed the other back hard against the wall again, and what little was left of that resolve was gone. There was only terror left.

"D-do not kill me," she suddenly managed, her voice strangled, "please …" Something cracked, and one of those few remaining marble pillars crumbled down into the room beyond. Evelyn kept her blazing eyes fixed firmly on the woman in her grasp.

"Under," she stammered, "the Undercellars are where you must go."

Cythandria sagged in her grip, eyes falling down. She shook her head, trembling.

"Oh, no …"

Evelyn dropped her, abruptly. The other woman crashed down to the floor, legs buckling beneath her. The raven-haired woman only turned leadenly on her heel, eyes wide. She looked back into that other room.

Whatever had happened – the blast had knocked Khalid clear off his feet and over the other man with his man-sized hafted blade. Zhalimar had gone down too, as had the rest of the Sembians again. The half-Elven man was lying flat on his back on the other side of the room.

She turned back toward Kivan and Imoen still strewn on the floor. The pink-haired woman began to stir. Evelyn made for her almost instantly.

Then she heard it.

A groan sounded somewhere, softly at first. Then it swelled, growing louder and louder in no more than a moment. It reached above her, and she glanced up. It stopped.

The ceiling was on fire. She realized the lingering smoke hanging over her head then for what it was. She paused for only a moment, staring. That groan sounded again, louder this time. Part of the roof burst through the flames, stabbing down sharply into the floor.

Imoen was on her knees by the time she reached her, a hand clutched to her swollen forehead. The Elf lay unmoving to one side.

Evelyn came up quickly behind, throwing herself down to her knees between them with a hand to the other woman's arm. She jumped in surprise, but Evelyn didn't waste a moment.

"Go," she snapped at her best friend. "Run!" Evelyn had a hand under the ranger's arm. "Get Khalid!" She was hauling his limp form up.

Imoen just blinked at her. But as her best friend struggled back to her feet with the Elf, the other woman leapt swiftly away back into the room, coughing the whole way.

"Dynaheir!" Evelyn shouted, and then immediately shoved a fist into her mouth. The smoke crept lower, and she couldn't breathe. Somehow, she managed to turn away, lugging the half-conscious man leadenly along against her side.

She only made it a few halting steps before she heard someone hacking behind her, coming up fast. The Rashemi was tearing past her then, fleeing for the stairs. She vanished in a flurry of scarlet and purple down the steps.

Next came Imoen. The half-Elven man managed to hold his own at her side though charred, blackened blood smeared half his face. They both stumbled haphazardly along. That groaning sounded once more, just as they reached the stairs. A smoldering ball of flame plummeted to the floor behind. It struck that marble statue of the beast-man she remembered from before and sent it toppling. The two didn't even look back as they pushed ahead, nearly tripping the whole way.

The ground behind her shook of a sudden, and Evelyn teetered there for a moment with the floor. Another step and she would be at the top of those steps. She never got the chance to make it, though.

Something struck her from behind. A cry died in her throat as the breath ripped free from her chest, forcing her over. Kivan toppled down ahead, but Evelyn somehow just managed to keep her feet. She twisted back around.

The smoke was everywhere behind, filling the room. She couldn't even make out the flames anymore. But she could easily feel the blistering heat. She blinked against it, straining. And then another flash of light screamed toward her out of the haze.

"You should have … never come back here!" A voice hacked at her. She was on her knees, struggling to breathe. A hand fumbled down for the knife at the ranger's belt beside her. Her legs were folded at a bad angle. She could barely feel them. A form stumbled at her out of the smoke.

It came up short, just ahead of her, hunched over with one hand grasping its mouth. The other … it stuck out toward her.

"Now we will see who Sarevok's favored truly is!"

It was Cythandria. She barked those words, and then let her bloody face show, a smile spreading quickly across her lips as she straightened. Evelyn just clutched for that knife.

She couldn't stop coughing.

"Only mortal," was all the woman said.

Those lips moved. Another groan drowned it all out.

That knife was in her hand. The other's filled with light.

Then it died.

That woman suddenly exploded where she stood as Evelyn watched. Steel ripped clean right through her middle, splitting her almost evenly, easily in two. Another shape came bursting through as what was left of her fell away. It was tall and dark. And it fixed instantly down on Evelyn.

"There you are."

A man-sized blade swung back up high over Zhalimar's shoulder. "Gardush! Aasim!" he barked, coughing. And then that steel came flashing back down for her neck like a pendulum.

The room behind them exploded.

A pillar of flame swept down and struck the man hard from behind. He lurched forward and over them to the stairs. Evelyn only just had sense enough to snatch at Kivan before that massive plated body struck her and they were all tumbling down. The world became a blur of smoke and rubble and spinning, jarring angles before it was through. And then she was rolling forward across level ground.

Her head spun. It was about the only part of her she could still feel at the bottom, and it only seemed to have burst into a thousand little points of pain at that. Her eyes were useless, blinking wildly. She wasn't sure, but she might have thrown up. She thought her arms might have been trying to lift her from the floor.

Then something barreled into her. It was Kivan. And she went down again. This time, she knew she wasn't getting back up.

A howl erupted somewhere. There were footsteps pounding down stairs. She felt a hand snatch at her arm. Dynaheir's voice was chanting. That sounded right. She blinked up. Light flashed behind, bright and terrible. Steel. A dead woman bursting in two. She heard her name.

The whole building was coming down around her. Someone had her up in both arms, dragging her backward. She caught sight of men stumbling down a flight of steps behind, a large one climbing back to his knees just ahead. That one howled aloud at her even as the ceiling came down and she slid away.

Marble and mortar fell between them. It was the last thing she saw before the air swallowed her whole … and they were gone.


	79. Chapter 7 The Underbelly

_**The Underbelly**_

"Here we are."

Water sloshed around their boots. It was ankle high and smelling little less than rank. Of course, it was just as well considering where they were. The sewer. And easily ignored besides. That thing ahead was what mattered. Jaheira just gestured toward the man with a hand.

"Well? Open it."

The thief glanced back at her. She caught the faintest hint of a cool smile there in the dark. "Of course." The words slipped off his tongue as he turned back.

She had always hated that sliding accent.

The Shadow Thief had slipped back into his natural tongue now that there was no further need for deception. At least not amongst them or his kin. There was no one else to hear in that open wound in mother earth.

Husam reached hands out into the gloom, grabbed hold of something, and turned. Jaheira heard the loud groan of steel. And then a door was swinging out toward them. There was no fetid stench of more sewer through that way, though. Instead, the air was almost fresh. Almost.

The two other Shadow Thieves were ahead and through without a word. Husam glanced back at her briefly before following. The druid only eyed the Elf and the paladin knight to either side of her. They both looked grim, but manageable. And perhaps capable enough too. She ducked inside quickly as well.

The chamber beyond was cool and dark. She caught sight of a low bed to one side, its sheets and pillows ruffled. Other than that the room was sparse. The thieves were already at the door on the other side.

One of them turned back, a third that had not been with the two that had joined them on that trek down into the sewers. He moved quickly over to speak with Husam. The Amnish man only nodded his head after a moment, and the other went scurrying back through that door. Jaheira caught the brief blare of music and laughter, as well as the heady smell of roasting food from whatever lay beyond. She frowned at the thief as she strode up to meet him.

"I've been tracking the movements of the two Night Masks while they've been operating in the city over the past few weeks," he told her, turning back around. "As I said, they are somehow connected to this Sarevok Anchev and have been responsible for framing the past several murders on the Shadow Thieves. They have been holing up here the past few days."

They moved ahead to the door. The other two thieves flanked it to either side, and the Elf and knight both caught them up behind. Jaheira pursed her lips.

"And you are sure they will know where he is hiding?"

The man shook his head. "Hiding? No …" He flashed her an easy grin. "He has no use for hiding now. But these two," he stabbed a finger toward the door, "these two will at least know how to get to him, I think."

She eyed him askance. But she would hardly have been there if she did not already think the chore worthwhile. The Shadow Thief had been helpful, though she would never have trusted him too far – or at all. But he wanted Sarevok Anchev defeated and destroyed. She could make use of him until they had accomplished just that.

The door cracked open an inch. Husam pushed his eye to it, a faint flicker of light falling on his browned face in a thin line from the room beyond. They were the Undercellars – so he had told her. It was there that they would find the Iron Throne's newest pet assassins.

"It was a little easier with Ravenscar's help," he uttered softly, still looking out. "Gods know he likes Westgate scrappers in his city no more than Thayan slave peddlers. Probably even less so. Never understood it myself. He used to be one, though," he cast an eye briefly toward her. Then he chuckled low in his throat. "I suppose that might explain it, anyhow … There it is."

He hefted a dagger in his hand, and it abruptly vanished up his sleeve. He glanced back toward her.

"Quick and quiet now," he warned. And then he was through that door and out. The thieves followed swiftly on his heels.

Jaheira gave each of the two men behind her a pointed look. The Elf bobbed his head slightly, but said nothing. The boy knight almost did not notice, as preoccupied as his mind seemed to have been that whole way. Silvanus save her, but she would have traded them both in a heartbeat for Khalid at her side. He would be making certain that impetuous young girl made it back alive and in one piece, though. She _hoped_ they were finding some luck with the Iron Throne. It would be more than a little disappointing if they did not.

She pushed open the door and stepped through.

The raucous space that gaped wide before her of a sudden then almost took her a step back. There were people everywhere – or at least a good deal more than there ever should have been down in a sewer at that hour – laughing, dancing, carousing, playing, fondling, giggling, gambling … she lost track of it all in an instant. The din was appalling, the smell of food and sweat thick, and the boisterous humor unrelenting. It lasted only a moment, though, as the other two stepped out behind her. She just wrinkled her nose, and glanced quickly about.

The Shadow Thieves had spread out, circling wide and aimlessly through the crowd. Or so it seemed to her. It was some kind of festive central chamber they had entered, rooms dotting it all along and marching up in a series of broad corridors away in every direction. Streamers hung from stone pillars, ale passed freely, and she could easily hear the labored good passions sounding unabashedly all throughout those halls. It was easy enough to know what those separate rooms were for. Perhaps sending Khalid off had been for the best.

They boy knight growled beside her, his eyes hard and dark on those festive throngs. She ignored him. Her eyes stayed on the thieves, darting quickly from each. The oaken staff was held firmly in both hands.

"Be ready," she voiced low. She didn't bother to see if either of them listened. They would, if they knew what was best. That place was hardly the safest to be.

She found Husam. The man took up position on one side of the room, gazing over heads until he locked eyes with another of the thieves across the way. The two others had vanished. That one only nodded his head, and edged his way nearer the center.

Jaheira pulled closer, alighting next to an old crumbling stone column swathed in colorful mesh and lights. It was still late enough in the night. They had left Khalid and the others to the Iron Throne and come straight there by the Shadow Thieves' lead. But morning was not far off, and that place had no few secret ways up to the inns, towns, and gutters of Baldur's Gate above. They would not have long.

Her eyes scoured those crowds. She hardly knew just who she was looking for, other than the names Husam had given them. Slythe and Krystin. Two Night Masks. The thought of it left a sour taste in her mouth. As if Shadow Thieves were not enough. And they had already murdered one of the Grand Dukes. That city was falling apart.

Whatever that one thief had intended to do, he was certainly being discreet. She had lost him in the crowd all too quickly. Laughter and chatter still roared on mercilessly all around.

She waited.

Eventually, something happened.

There was a sharp gasp, piercing even that din. A cry followed it, and a flurry of motion. Jaheira only blinked. She certainly was not sure, but she did not think they were supposed to cause so much hassle. But then the crowd ebbed outward in a sudden flux. It left two men standing alone in its wake.

They were grappling with each other. Or rather, one of them was. That man had the other's arm in his grip, pulled fast past his side, a dagger clutched firmly in one hand. It had been meant for his gut, and the druid recognized the Shadow Thief holding it quickly enough. He had missed his mark.

It only lasted a moment. The other man whipped around with blinding speed, sending an elbow into the side of the thief's skull. The Amnish man tumbled away to the ground.

Jaheira stayed where she was. The knight started past her, but she checked him with a hand. That scene was not over yet.

"Well, well, well," the standing man stepped toward the Shadow Thief, hefting a small blade in his hand. "What have we here … a wayward assassin?"

He stopped mere paces away. It could only have been the Night Mask – Slythe. He smirked down at the thief. That one had only pulled himself back up on his elbows.

"You have picked the wrong mark today, little friend," the Night masked cooed. The Amnish man only glared back up at him.

"And you have picked the wrong thieves to trifle with, _Gateling_."

Slythe stopped, and blinked. All at once, he whipped back around, fleeing. But he was too late.

Steel hurtled through the air. It slipped along the man's back. He pitched forward, melting into the crowd. It abruptly burst every which way.

Someone screamed. But they only pushed back. That ring grew wide, pausing in anticipation. The Amnish thief was climbing to his feet, quickly. Before he could, however, the Night Mask was back up, a bloody knife in his hand. It whipped down at the thief. The man twitched over and back down out of sight.

Those others started moving then. Women were shrieking in earnest now, and no few men scurried away. Wood and steel hissed through the air at the loud clinking twangs of crossbows, and that man – Slythe – ducked low. One man fell with a bolt in the leg. The Night Mask grabbed another as he ran by. Steel bloomed black and red in that one's neck instead.

People were darting every which way. The knight started forward once more. Jaheira stabbed a finger at him, pushing a fat man aside from trampling her, and thrust away. He hesitated only a moment, but started away after her sign. She gestured for the Elf as well. He moved swiftly in the opposite direction. Then she slipped behind the pillar ahead.

The crowd had quickly all but gone. She edged her eyes about the stone back to the hall, staff in hand. A young slip of a girl tore past, snapping her back. Then it was clear.

The Shadow Thief was still on the ground. He pulled a knife out of his hip, tossing it aside. Then he twisted over onto his stomach and scrambled away.

There was no one else in sight. Jaheira kept herself just hidden. That wounded man threw himself over behind an abandoned couch and found some cover.

The silence lasted only a few moments. The Night Mask's voice echoed across the chamber.

"Rather poor choice of place for an ambush, my friends. As if I wouldn't have seen it coming … have been _waiting_ for it."

There was no answer. She tried hard, but the half-Elven woman couldn't know just where the man was hiding there in the stillness. She caught sight of the Elf and the knight away to either side. At least they had sense enough to stay put.

"Are you here to clear your _good_ name, Shadow Thieves?" that disembodied voice chided on. "I doubt anyone will care one way or another after tonight. Poor Dukes … Wouldn't it have been better if they had all just died _together_ …"

It faded. And rich, lilting laughter took its place.

Quiet again. Her breathing was low, but it was all she could hear. Moments dragged on in stillness as she watched. That wounded man had vanished from behind his cover.

A twang. Her head came whipping about. There was a sharp grunt. Then a man came tumbling over and out into the open. A Shadow Thief – one of the others. He started bleeding out all over the stone floor.

She took one look at him. Somehow, she did not think he would make it. Then she ducked down a little more against stone, eyes darting every which way. The room was lit in the center, but dim. There were far too many shadows from which to strike.

She held still, knuckles white in the dark about oak. Steel clashed.

Her feet were moving, slowly. The Elf and the knight were gone, vanished into the black as well. They were not fool enough to stay put now. Her steps were silent. She started moving wide in a ring about the room.

Steel again. It flashed across the chamber, and she twisted that way. Another man toppled over, head falling into sight. He was still alive, gurgling blood. Another thief.

Laughter echoed dully off the walls.

"Come now! I expected better from the great _scourge_ of Amn!"

It seemed to come from everywhere.

She did not stop. A boot scuffed stone, and she whirled back around.

Ajantis. She could just make out the fool boy's silhouette trailing back some paces behind. She started to growl deep in her throat before she caught herself. Then she came back around.

"Mere child's play …"

It was suddenly in her ear. She blinked, and then steel flashed for her face. Only her sudden jerk in surprise saved her. Metal struck hard against stone pillar to one side instead.

She was looking into a pair of eyes then. They blinked back at her in surprise.

"You're no thief."

It was all she needed. That one moment. Her staff flashed up and struck him square in the face.

The man reeled. She swept instantly around with her staff again. But he had already melted back into the shadows.

"LIGHT!"

She howled aloud, backpedaling quickly from that place. She was not about to play that fool rogue's game. Stone came up swiftly against her back, staying her. It took a moment more, but light abruptly gleamed to one side.

The Elf was there. He had understood well enough at least. He held a flickering globe aloft in one hand. It swept around him quickly in a circle, the shadows flitting back and away. There was no sign of the Night Mask, though.

"Where is he?" the knight grumbled behind her. Almost before the words had left his mouth, something struck him hard from behind and he went down.

Jaheira whirled back around. But that something threw her right off her feet. She tumbled aside. Steel flashed through the air toward the Elf. He ducked behind a pillar before it could strike. The rest of the room around her fell into shadow, those sparks flashing bright.

The staff was still clutched firmly in one hand. Lying on her side, she whipped it around into that man beside her without thinking. He stumbled a step before he could get away.

She leapt to her feet. She couldn't see. She did not try to. She just swung wide with the staff, as quickly as she could. It missed. Swung. Missed again. The third time, she felt steel slap it back.

Something stabbed in for her throat. She ducked, came around, and the oaken staff flashed up. She got him. It bought her another moment. And she used it to stab the staff straight into where she knew his gut must be. The man did not disappoint her with a sharp grunt.

Slythe stumbled out into the light. She followed him into the center of the room, but he backpedaled quickly, hastily. Wood hissed instantly out of the gloom. It struck the Night Mask hard in the side before he could even catch himself. He went straight down.

They were all closing in on him then. Xan stood up from one side, Ajantis shaking his head loose as he trudged, sword free out into the light. Husam appeared out of nowhere, striding briskly forward, a small crossbow in his hands. He clicked another bolt into place as he moved up to meet them. Then he leveled it down on the Night Mask's heart.

"And that's it for you, Slythe."

Jaheira's hand was suddenly pushing the weapon away. It fired wide into the chamber.

"Wait!" she snapped. The Shadow Thief rounded on her instantly, eyes dark and fierce.

"Two of my men are dead," he declared flatly, his voice calm. That last one came limping up hurriedly from one side. "Joined us a little late, did you not?" he demanded of the druid.

"We need answers." She brushed his words aside with a gesture of her hand toward the Night Mask on the floor. Husam did not even look at him.

"We only need one. We'll find the other."

He pulled a knife free in his hands. Jaheira only frowned.

"You said she was here."

The Shadow Thief had already turned away. He started reaching down toward the fallen man, steel in hand, before she could do anything. But then the Night Mask barked a laugh back up at them.

"She is."

Husam slowed. And then he stopped. That was all that saved him.

Light exploded past the thief. It filled Jaheira's eyes, bursting to one side. There was a loud clap. It exploded through her ears. Then it turned instantly to a screeching roar. She was blind. And then she felt the stone floor suddenly coming up beneath her.

There was no sound as she rolled back over. Her eyes unclouded, but it was as if the world were swallowed in a colorful haze, her heart pumping in rhythm with her unfeeling skull. The knight was lying on the floor some paces away, face twisting as he snatched up his blade and clawed his way back to his feet. The Elf was flinging light ahead somewhere. His steps retreated back toward her, blue blade in hand. Then something took him from his feet, and he vanished behind.

It was a pantomime of dead silence. She blinked up at the Night Mask back on his feet, Husam suddenly leaping at him with a dagger in either hand. Steel flashed soundlessly as he whirled in about the other's slender blade.

Someone stumbled ahead of her – a man. And then he exploded. She felt something wet splatter down over her. She swallowed, thrusting herself up from the stone.

Her staff was gone. Her eyes were throbbing. And she just barely managed to get up to her knees. A woman hovered above her.

A pretty face smiled down. It muttered something. Then it lifted a knife in one hand.

The Waterdhavian came charging up. Another hand flung wide, sending him down to his knees with a bolt of fire, eyes twisting cruelly away. When they came back … Jaheira's fist struck them hard.

Sound came rushing back.

"_Chit!_"

That girl stumbled away, shrieking through a bloody nose. The half-Elven woman shook her head, and then started after. All at once, another hasty flash of light sent her sprawling.

"Slythe!"

The two thieves still danced, two knives flying wildly about that lone blade. Spinning, thrusting, whirling, slicing – that beautiful beat struck quickly to the flying cadence of clicking steel.

Then it abruptly stopped.

Husam feinted low, Slythe high, and they both met in the middle. Steel flashed and the next was too fast to see. They slipped past each other, back to back. There was a pause. Then the Shadow Thief's head toppled to one side.

His body followed soon after.

The girl scrambled away toward the other man. He slipped his blade back into its sheath. Then he swept his gaze cleanly about their bloody work.

He caught the woman in his arms, and offered a stiff salute. "See you in the Hells, my friends."

He grinned. The girl beside him chanted a few words. Magic flared bright in a ring about two. And they were gone.

The oaken staff rolled to a stop just beside her. Unseeing, her fingers closed tight about it once more.

The room was quiet then for a long time.


	80. Chapter 7 Deadweight

_**Deadweight**_

It was raining.

Evelyn felt the soft pitter-patter of drops on her face. She winced against it. Her mouth was hanging open, and it filled her throat. She started choking.

She rolled over onto her side. Wet, gravelly stone ground beneath her. Her cheeks puffed out as she hacked into it, mud smearing her face. There was a crack of thunder … and finally, she opened her eyes.

It took a moment. Everything was blurring. She coughed. Then she slowly started to right her spinning head. She had been lying down. Now she was sitting up.

She was outside again. She blinked around in surprise, not sure just how she had gotten there this time. Something answered her, though. A hissing mass of flaming wood and stone answered her. It hurtled down behind, and she came wrenching lazily about in surprise.

That thing howled down out of sight. She heard the thunderous crash even as she threw herself back unsteadily to her feet. She stumbled over to the lip of stone past which it had fallen. She looked over.

There, down in the streets below, a burst pile of smoldering rock and timber crackled against the rain and cobblestones. Her eyes flashed back up. The crumbling, flaming ruins of the Iron Throne building stood broken and dead up high above.

"Oh, no …"

She was back where she had started. That building opposite the Throne still stood proud and untouched beneath her feet. And that could mean only one thing.

There were five bodies there well enough, scattered about. She remembered the blast – remembered the Hathran's spell mere moments before. It must have blown them all clear back through the gate. They were lucky that was all that had happened. So very, very lucky.

She let herself slide back down for a moment – so tired. The rain picked up a little. She glanced back up at the crackling building behind. It still wasn't enough to quench the flames. Another few moments … and they would have been burning too.

Nothing. She had nothing. A second time and she had left with _nothing_.

She caught brief sight of a hulking shape amongst the others. Maybe even less.

She was so tired. She let her head fall down against her muddy knees.

"Eve?"

Imoen's voice echoed out from that mass of huddled shapes. Her head came snapping instantly back up. She noticed another moving too. It was Dynaheir. She had crawled her way to Minsc. The pink-haired woman was picking her way slowly out from under someone else.

No.

Evelyn shook her head and ground her teeth. There was still one more thing to do. She could keep on until then. She had too. They all did. She could rest when she was dead.

She pushed herself slowly back up, and stood.

"Let's go."

* * *

"What happened?"

Evelyn closed the door behind them, keeping her voice low. It wasn't that she was afraid of being heard, though, so much as what she knew was coming was what she didn't want to hear.

Jaheira stalked past her into that small room. It was the one where they kept Duke Eltan – they were back at the Ilmatari shrine, safely hidden again. But none of them had had an easy time of it.

Evelyn watched as the druid stopped at the window, still bristling all over as she had been. She twisted half back around at the sound of the younger woman's voice, mouth snapping open. But she caught herself, and softened it.

"He underestimated them."

She smiled, not looking at the raven-haired woman for a moment. She didn't have to ask who.

"Where is he?"

The Shadow Thief had not come back with her. At least, Evelyn had not seen him. The other kept her back to the younger woman, though, folding her arms up across her chest.

"Dead."

The druid muttered on under her breath – Evelyn only caught something about following thieves into battle. Then Jaheira tossed her head.

"And you?"

Evelyn only shook hers. There was nothing to say. It was obvious enough just how they had fared by their casualties. At least Jaheira, Xan, and Ajantis had escaped mostly unscathed. The same could not be said for those with her.

The druid nodded. "A waste of our blood," she declared flatly. "We are no nearer our enemy. And time grows short."

That night would be the ducal coronation ceremony. And Evelyn had no doubts about what would become of their chances once Sarevok was named Grand Duke. They had less than a day to end it.

It was a waste. It had been. Jaheira was right. But there was little else they could have done. There was little else they could _do_.

"We will have to kill him at the coronation," the older woman said abruptly, curtly. "But we will never find our way in. The Flaming Fist will be guarding every last hole."

Jaheira twisted back around. She was scowling again. Evelyn glanced up at her, but the other was moving again before she could speak.

"I will see that the priest has some help."

She gave the younger woman a grimace that was supposed to be more comforting than it was. Then she was pushing past back toward the door. Evelyn let her go. She knew the giant Rashemi was clinging to the last shreds of his life in the other room. That Sembian's man-sized blade had nearly sliced him in half. Dynaheir had found him curled up on the floor, flooding the stone with his blood. Somehow, he had managed to survive long enough for them to escape.

Evelyn stared after the other woman through the closed door for some time. The sounds in the other room were muffled, but she could hear their voices. They were excited, and loud.

She supposed it was somewhat her fault. She had ordered the Rashemi to stay behind with Imoen. She didn't think she could be blamed for him fighting instead of falling back to regroup, though. And he had agreed to come readily into that place. She could only take so much responsibility.

She sighed.

Not much later, she heard those voices suddenly start shouting. There was no mistaking the anguished bellow that erupted from the room beyond. He had come awake.

The door burst open, forcing her back. All at once, that howling grew deafening as Minsc was hurried through and inside. It had taken three of them to carry him back to the shrine, but he had been unconscious. Now it took five, most of them just trying to still his thrashing.

"Over there, set him down over there!" that old priest told them, leaping past toward a bookshelf to one side. It was filled with vials and metal instruments.

Jaheira only glanced up briefly to shout "MOVE" at her before they were barreling past. Everyone seemed to be shouting at once, desperate to be heard over the thunderous moans. And that great, tattooed head just lashed from side to side, mouth snapping open like some raving beast.

They let him down to the floor. The source of his madness was easy enough to see. The priest found what he was looking for and leapt back down, hands flying over the gaping wound that split the whole of the Rashemi's chest and stomach. The old man went at it with a long shard of heated metal in one hand, clamping his teeth around some black thread and a needle in the other. Evelyn caught brief sight of those viscera, gargling blood and pulsing beneath, before he blocked her view. He thrust a bottle to Khalid all but sitting on the Rashemi's black, bloodied shoulders.

Minsc doubled his efforts, making a sick, half-coughing, half-wheezing noise deep in his bubbling throat. Jaheira flew back off him, nearly knocking Evelyn flat at the knees. She paused only long enough to snap back up at the younger woman before launching herself back into the fray.

"Either help or get out!"

But Evelyn only watched silently as they fought for only a few moments more. Ajantis glanced up briefly toward her, his face splattered with Rashemi blood and unreadable. She turned away. She had to step around Dynaheir at the door. Then she was outside. It closed quietly behind her.

There was only one thing that she could have done to help. And it would have been no help at all.

She pushed those thoughts from mind. Almost as soon as she had looked away, Xan was standing up across that small room from her.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just eying her and the closed door with its labored cries muffled just beyond. She stepped up toward him before that sound could fill the silence too much.

"How is he?" she asked, coming up beside him and looking down. The Elf turned back around, following her gaze to Kivan lying there on the floor.

"Well enough, I suppose."

He sighed. She just frowned, studying the smoothed lines of the ranger's face. They were so remarkably devoid of that cold, calculated indifference they held in the waking world – that hard mask he hid behind. It was as if someone had finally chiseled away all the cold stone until only the man was left. He looked almost … peaceful.

She frowned even deeper. But it wouldn't last. She had been there when he had been knocked out by the blast. She supposed that was her fault too.

"The Shadow Thief is dead," the Elven mage beside her murmured quietly after a few moments. She just nodded. "The two we were to kill escaped, no doubt flying to their master like faithful hounds with good news."

Again, she nodded. She had no doubts that Zhalimar Cloudwulfe would be doing the same thing. It was too much to ask that he had died in the building that night.

Too many enemies. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. So many to fight and so few to help. Sarevok had no qualms about sacrificing any of his allies. She wasn't so sure she was ready to do so just yet, or ever. She could already feel him winning.

But she shook her head, abruptly. They still had time. They were just running out.

"I believe," the other continued quietly, "they mean to kill the two remaining Grand Dukes."

She glanced toward him sharply. He met her eyes with a thoughtful look of his own. Eventually, she turned back down and away.

"How?"

The Elf breathed deeply, sighing. "The Ducal Palace, of course. They will all be gathered there – I would imagine for this coronation. It would be the perfect moment to strike."

Her face twisted just that much more, though. She kept her eyes on the Elf below.

"He couldn't just kill them." She shook her head. "Even if he _was_ Duke."

"True." The Elf bobbed his head simply. "But it does not have to be his hand that does the deed. Our Night Mask friends from the Undercellars would certainly seem to have shown us that much."

She did look at him then.

"And then what?" she demanded. The Elf's brown eyes wandered back over to her.

"Why, assume power, I would think," he said simply. She started shaking her head again, but he kept on before she could speak. "With the other Dukes dead or gone, the mantle would fall to him alone, symbolically at least. He has seen to his popularity well enough inside the city walls I should say. I doubt there are many who would think ill of it at all. And most others would merely wait to see just what he would do."

She was scowling. The furrows in her face had grown deeper with each bitter word. But the Elf's tongue was placid, almost as if it didn't really matter to him at all. She opened her mouth quickly, but snapped it shut again. Eventually, she twisted back away. She couldn't argue with it. She was sure he was right.

"We have to stop him," she said softly a few moments later instead. "Now. Tonight."

Jaheira was right. They both were. If they didn't move now, it would be too late.

A cry rose up in the room behind them, almost as if on cue at that. They both twisted around toward it. Evelyn folded her arms up across her chest. It was stifled almost instantly, however, and died. The Elf turned slowly back on her.

"And what will you do?" he asked gently. "Will you break into the Ducal Palace?"

He was staring at her with a pointed look. She kept her eyes down on the ranger, staring through. She didn't answer him.

"Evelyn," he took her by the arm with a hand. "Evelyn, even _if_ we could find a way inside …"

He shook his head. And then he gestured with it back toward the room behind.

"Our best chance – if any – lies with that man in there lying in his fever," he told her earnestly. "This gambit of Sarevok Anchev's may not even succeed."

She still wasn't looking at him. He squeezed her arm tighter as if that would make her listen.

"Evelyn, at the very _least_," he hurried on almost anxiously, "an attack on him in the Ducal Palace would only lend some truth to our role as Amnish spies. If he survived, he would use it against us, and solidify his power then only all the more. He would become the champion of the people, and they would believe his promises when he brought them to war over it."

"What else can we do?" she asked simply enough at the last. Xan studied her for a moment more. But at that, he deflated. He pulled back.

He just stood there for the next few moments. The room behind had grown quiet. He was lost in those somber thoughts. But she didn't give him a chance to think on them too long. She abruptly stepped away.

She had her hand on the latch of the door leading down a flight of stairs back outside. She paused for a moment. Then she opened her mouth and turned back. Minsc suddenly howling anew cut her off.

The sound broke over them both through closed doors. She clicked her teeth back shut. The Elf had turned his head aside, listening. His jaw tensed when it was finally over.

"Listen to that, Evelyn," he said slowly, deliberately. "_Listen_ to it." His head bobbed a little too sharply in that direction. Those brown eyes glinted like stone when they found her again.

"Must one of them die to give you even a moment's pause?" That handsome face twisted, accusing. "What of the rest of us, Evelyn? What of m …?"

His mouth had a hard time working of a suddenly.

"What of _me_?" he finally finished.

She gave him a hard, dubious look.

"What _about_ you?"

But he ignored her. He took an angry step forward.

"Have you listened to nothing that I have said?" he demanded irritably, charging on blindly. "Has nothing that has happened thus far begun to sink into those childish thoughts?"

Her eyes flashed wide at that. She opened her mouth, but he pushed her words aside.

"When will you come to your senses and see reason?" He continued, continuing slowly towards her. "When one of these broken faces beneath you is finally more friend than foe? Will you slow down to think a moment then?"

"No," she snapped back.

It was all she could manage for a moment.

"No?" he picked up again on it readily even so. "No, what?" He opened his mouth, but caught himself. Then he strode the last bit between them and took her forcefully by the shoulders. His voice fell low.

"If this were some … _crusade_ for the sake of this only and what will become of it," he said, voice rising in steady crescendo, "then I might laud your courage – foolish and stupid though it would still be."

She bristled. A flush painted his pale cheeks thickly with red.

"But I know that is _not_ the case. This is vengeance," he told her, his voice straining. He shook his head fiercely. "That is all it is, Evelyn …"

"No," she started shaking her head. "No, you don't know what–"

"Don't know?" he demanded, shaking her in his grasp. "_Don't _know?"

"You weren't there. You didn't–"

He snatched her up roughly, thrusting a hand back. "There is a man _dying_ in the next room!"

"… What he's done – what he's taken from me …!"

"And you are so _blinded_ by hate that you cannot even bring yourself–"

"– what he's doing _right_ now!" She stabbed a finger down.

"… Just a spoiled, _spurned _little child whose father isn't alive to suckle anymore and so she will let the whole world _burn_ just to see herself _revenged_!"

The room grew suddenly quiet. The only sound to pierce it was that sharp smack of hard flesh across the Elf's handsome face. It canted sharply away, and her hand remained there for a moment, clenching into a trembling fist. He didn't speak, or look at her for a moment after that. Her knuckles cracked.

"What do you know?" she managed softly. Her tongue was thick, pulsing venom from her veins. It stuck in her throat. "What do you know, Xan?" Her voice wavered, stammering. There was so much hate and loathing flooding it there. She was shaking.

He didn't answer. His face had frozen, looking steadily away as if carved in stone. "Nothing," she answered for him, barely more than breathing. "You know nothing at all … nothing about me."

"That," his jaw suddenly popped back to life. His eyes beat intensely the other way. "… I think … is where you are wrong." They rounded slowly back on her.

That look had changed – too much. But she was already shaking her head. "No," she bit back. There were angry tears in her eyes. "You can't. You won't." The flesh on her face twisted, flinching. "I won't let you. I won't let any of you."

It was as simple as that.

She tore her arm free. The door latch clicked back with the wood in the next instant. And then she was gone, thumping down those stairs outside the shrine to the streets below.

Again. The Elf just let her go.

* * *

It was early morning – dark still. The city of Baldur's Gate should have just been coming awake. But it was not. It had been awake for some time. It had never gone to sleep. It probably wouldn't again for a long time.

Evelyn's hand drifted inside her stained and beaten coat. The once-fine lavender was muddied and long since faded with no few scratches and tears. There was some ash too – and blood. If she had been worried about standing out there on the street corner at that hour, it certainly didn't stop her from doing just that. Her fingers closed around that letter there.

It was a palace she looked at just then. The Ducal Palace. She might have seemed a gutter rat or some poor wretch for all anyone knew, basking in that pristine glamour just ahead and across the cobbles. Might have, had the dim light not kept her from view. She stared, her face smooth. Her eyes drifted up. Alabaster towers and sky-thrusting spinnerets. It was a grand sight to behold.

There were Flaming Fist everywhere. They ambled leisurely about the palace grounds – verdant lawns sprawling away from magnificent stone slabs to the dreary, rain-slicked cobblestones of the city streets themselves. They didn't see her. She fit in there amidst the dull, dark and faded stone. They were everywhere. But they were not looking for her.

That night was the night of the coronation ceremony. She hardly had her ear to the ground, but it was easy to guess just what had been passing like fire amongst the lips of that city's gossip in those past few weeks – in just those past few days. She wondered how long he had been planning it. Even at that early hour those wandering soldiers and laborers setting up for the festivities seemed so happy, ready to celebrate the coming of their new duke. She had heard them talk. He had funded the festivities himself with the lavish coffers of his late, murdered father. How selfless of him. It was to be a fair, even for those not invited within. She wondered how much of her life had been a part of that plan from the very beginning.

They weren't far from the Ilmatari shrine. _She_ wasn't far. But that world was another world away for all that it mattered. She wasn't some street urchin clawing at the gates to see her savior. But she might as well have been for all the good that it would have done.

Xan had been right. Or would be. Jaheira was, she was sure. Those Flaming Fist weren't looking for her now, but they still saluted smartly each time an officer wandered by. It would be a night to remember. Sarevok's accession would breathe new life into the city – a new life beating full with justice and order to crush the chaos and terror that had grown so rank before. So they said. So they all believed. The Iron Throne had just been the beginning. They hadn't even realized its clawed hands thrashing at their throats until it was too late. Now Amn was killing them off, slowly and deliberately, hacking into the city with a clean knife from afar. It would be a new day tomorrow. A joyous day.

She could almost feel it all sweeping past her like a boulder, slow … inexorable. Crushing everything else in its path. Her head dipped low. But she shook it free of that sickness. Then she glared back up once more.

She had come there to see just where she would meet her end. She could smell death in the air about that place already. No one else could. No one else cared. Somehow, she knew, though, strangling herself at the gates wouldn't do anyone any good.

But that was all that she could see. A full company of Fist was there. She had seen Captain Grayne standing stiff and resolute nearby sometime ago. Angelo Dosan too, looking hard and pale, but determined. One thing was sure – she would not be getting in that way. Not in one piece.

She breathed deep. It passed. Sarevok would be in there. Maybe he was in there already. But there was nothing she could do about it. He was _always_ just beyond her reach.

He was better than her. At this. At everything.

Eventually …

She just turned away.

That woman from the tower was standing there behind her.

Evelyn twisted back, hands whirling to take steel meant for her stomach and wrench it aside. Too late, she realized that it wasn't coming. Nothing was coming. That woman just stood there.

"Shhh," she put a honey-colored finger to her browned lips. "I must talk to you in private." Those dark, tilted eyes flashed warningly past her toward the parade grounds. "These are … troubled times."

The other woman turned briskly on her heel, starting back toward the darkened streets behind. Evelyn didn't budge an inch.

"Where is he?" she demanded, low and angry. "Where is Sarevok?"

The other paused, glancing back. She was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "If you want him, then I suggest you follow closely and listen." She took up her stride again swiftly.

Evelyn hesitated, remembering all too well the past night and just what had happened. How had the woman found her? She hadn't wanted to kill her then – barely tried. It could have meant anything.

She didn't have long to decide, though. The woman quickly all but vanished from sight. Evelyn had to run to catch up with her.

They didn't go far. Evelyn had hardly lost her fleeting form before the woman was suddenly popping up in front of her again from nowhere. Evelyn only came up short, nearly stumbling over her. If the other had meant to kill her, she certainly could have done a good job of it by then. But she only pressed another finger to her lips.

"I apologize for not being more open," the woman was saying, dark, tilted eyes darting either way. They were alone on that narrow street, though. "But it was neither the time nor the place last night. I said that we would speak again."

The windows lining the squat buildings to either side were dark, but her voice kept low just the same. "How did you find me?"

It had not been long, true. But that magical doorway Dynaheir had prepared especially for their escape had been meant to cover their tracks. The other only shook her head.

"You found what you were looking for at the Iron Throne, did you not?" The woman arched an eyebrow at her. "The pull is strong in you both. I knew you could not stay away for long."

Evelyn frowned. It quickly turned into a scowl. "What do you want?" she finally asked. She kept a hand resting anxiously at her side.

Those dark eyes did not miss the motion. She made no move of her own, though.

"I have things that must be said," she raised her soft chin, "things that are important to us both. I have but one condition to my discourse, and you must agree before I speak. A promise I seek, and I will accept no less."

Evelyn stared at her for a moment, but no words came. The woman straightened, and Evelyn narrowed her eyes. She was already shaking her head.

"Why should I promise _you_ anything?" For all those earnest words, she was still that woman who had helped Sarevok Anchev murder her father that night. She was still the one who had cast fire into her raw flesh and sent her fleeing away into the dark. But the other was firm.

"I said I would help you, if you helped me," she told her. "My promise will not harm you, though ignoring it can. You are trying to reach him tonight, yes?" She asked abruptly. Then she shook her head. "You will not make it inside the gates without my help."

Evelyn perked at that, but still frowned. She let it wear lines in her face for long moments before she could answer. It was that, more than anything, that started to decide her. It was all she really cared about.

"Alright," she ventured cautiously after a moment. "If you can get me to him."

"Promise me," the other repeated. Evelyn reluctantly bobbed her head.

"I promise."

"I thank you." The other woman looked visibly relieved, and brightened, though she schooled it swiftly. "Here is my request."

She took a deep breath. It was a moment before she could continue. "I charge you to defeat Sarevok," she said then at the last, "the man behind all your woes."

Evelyn only blinked. But the woman wasn't done yet. She continued on quickly before Eve could open her mouth.

"You must destroy his plans and stop his scheme in its tracks. You must strip him of the belief that he can succeed in this path he follows."

She took another breath, steadying herself of a sudden. A little confused, and doubtful, Evelyn did not interrupt. And the other woman continued, softly, almost gently.

"You must do this for me," she said, "and ... and you must also leave him his life." Her eyes abruptly fell. "I will … I will help him to live it as a man. Not as the god he thinks he can be."

Those dark eyes flashed back up. They fixed resolutely on hers. Evelyn's had already gone wide. She stared at that woman, incredulous there on the empty corner.

"I …" Evelyn managed, but her tongue was too thick. Her jaw bobbed, and she swallowed. And then she suddenly got angry.

"How can I do that?" she demanded quickly, barking the words at the other. "He killed Gorion!" she snapped. "He's trying to kill_ me…_!"

That honey-colored face only shook slowly from side to side, though, eyes squeezing shut.

"Sarevok seeks to destroy everyone," she said softly, sadly, "not just you. _You_ are of particular interest because of your shared origins with him. You are a possible rival, one of few that are worthy of his personal attention. Above all else," those dark eyes flashed back open, "you are family."

A bark of a laugh almost escaped her lips before she could think better of it. Then she did. It took a moment. Maybe a few. She swallowed it back down instead. And shook her head right back.

"No."

She was shaking her head from side to side, voice warbling with unbidden laughter. She couldn't help it. She couldn't keep a stupid grin from trying to force itself onto her face. Her eyes crinkled. She was sure there must have been some trace of madness there. She really couldn't help it.

_Little sister_ …

That voice was suddenly back in her head, chiding from Candlekeep. Her _home_.

She stopped instantly, the sound catching in her throat. She almost choked on it. Her eyes found the other woman's, but they just watched silently. Evelyn started shaking her head again, slowly – earnestly.

"No."

There was no answer. Only the thoughts in her head. They held back, waiting for the storm. She was still laughing, quietly to herself. It died all too slowly. Then that dam began to burst. All of it came flooding right through.

She snapped back up, wincing in confusion at the other. Then her face twisted. She retreated a step as if struck. Her eyes were suddenly wide and mad, and fixed on that honey-colored demon before her.

"_No_," she spat again, stabbing a finger at her.

The other only arched an eyebrow back. Then she opened her mouth.

"Likely you have suspected as much," the woman said, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully.

But Evelyn's eyes just flashed back up at her. Her hand was shaking. Her tongue was thick, grinding her teeth. Her jaw wrenched closed.

"Does this disturb you?" the other continued, almost chidingly. "It should not." She lowered her chin. "Monsters are often closer to us than we think."

Evelyn wasn't looking at her anymore. Her one hand was digging into the flesh at her thigh. She slapped it aside with the other.

_Little sister _…

"Shut up," she hissed at it.

"You are siblings," that woman told her, firmly. "And the paths open to him are yours as well."

Evelyn's eyes snapped back on her wildly for a moment at that. But they quickly wandered away again.

"Though, he has been racing down his from his earliest days."

The raven-haired woman was twisting her head, eyes fluttering closed. But the other kept on as if she wanted to hear.

"You had Gorion to guide you, did you not? Sarevok had no one. He draws his strength from his hatred, from the thought of rising above those he knows to be inferior. His divine blood _hungers_ for conquest … and that is why he must be defeated, but not killed. He serves another, but does not know it."

Evelyn nearly laughed at that. Her face twisted into another silly grin. Then it half fell into a grimace. She had to squeeze angry tears out of her eyes, stiffening.

"The child becomes the father," the woman continued softly. "Or so he desperately wishes. The blood pulls, calls, and demands. The wise Alaundo did say unto the ages that the Lord of Murder would perish, and his doom would spawn his mortal progeny. Chaos shall be sown in their passage …"

Those dark, tilted eyes bored into her.

"But to what purpose?" the other asked thoughtfully. Evelyn was barely listening. "You have felt the hunger and heard the offerings of power?" She nodded without an answer. "Sarevok thinks they are true and so he seeks a senseless war, and a slaughter of a scale so grand as to defy description." The woman shook her head. "He thinks it will launch him to … to what? Possibly he is right. But I cannot lose him to this."

"Why?" It was Evelyn speaking then. She growled the word, grinding it over her teeth. It cut the other woman off short. "_Why_? What does it matter? What does it matter to _you_?"

Thoughts were flying in and out of her head. Desperate, _deranged_. That one stuck for a moment. She glared up at the other as if it were her fault.

"Sarevok is …" her voice faltered for a moment. For once, she seemed suddenly so very unsure of herself. It only lasted a moment.

"I share Sarevok's company," she stated almost flatly then. She straightened. "And would do so until I die, given the chance. That is all you need to know."

The last came almost bitingly. But Evelyn hardly cared.

"I would save the man within the beast he wishes to be," the other woman continued. "I do not believe he will survive his plan. It is all based on conjecture at best." She shook her head again. "He feels that he has been chosen, and that he will become … _more_ than he is." She only frowned at that. "I do not share this belief." Then, she sighed. "Gods are not known for bequeathing their powers, especially if they have foreseen their own death. Whatever he is – whatever the _both_ of you are," those eyes fixed her firmly for a moment, "I would keep him here, grounded firmly among those of us that are flesh."

"_Both_ of us …"

Evelyn suddenly smirked. She almost laughed again as she looked at the other woman. But it quickly fell into blackness once more.

"Whatever we are," she muttered, shifting her head from side to side. "He could have done this – what he wanted – _all_ of this," she spat, "without ever bothering _me_ …"

And Gorion would not be dead. Coran and Yeslick would not be dead. Minsc would not be lying there, bleeding to death. And so many others would have lived. So _many_ others …

Her eyes were wide and staring at the ground. Through it.

The other bobbed her head ever so slightly.

"True," she offered, almost gently. "But he believed Gorion to have been training you, shaping you from the beginning to fight rather than embrace your destiny as he had been. He believed you would try to stop him, that your foster father had planned it so all along … to stop the chaos Sarevok believed to be inevitable. Alaundo spoke it to be so."

The woman met her gaze evenly.

"He thought you the greatest threat from the beginning. And so he decided to strike first."

Evelyn did laugh then, angrily – wretchedly. It died off abruptly as that black blade thrusting through her father's back flashed before her eyes. She clawed at them with her palms.

_Go away_!

"And he was right."

Evelyn looked sharply up to the other woman. But she was steadfast, and calm. She opened her mouth once more.

"And that is why I will help you – _must_ help you," she said earnestly. "But in return you must do this for me. You must keep me this promise … and spare his life."

Evelyn stared at her, as if she were mad, aghast. Her eyes quickly boiled over, and she stiffened. It turned swiftly to an anguished glare.

"If I don't kill him …" she began, incredulous and all cold fury both. But the other cut her off.

"Sarevok can be redeemed," the woman told her firmly, evenly. "As could you should you one day pursue the same path."

But Evelyn only shook her head, slowly. She wanted to. It ended up nodding after a moment instead. Her teeth had begun grinding her lower lip into salty blood. But there was nothing else she could do.

The other bobbed her head slowly then as well. It grew quiet. Evelyn didn't dare look at her. She felt the light of the morning sun brush her back.

"Tell me what to do," she managed. Her eyes were frozen on stone.

And the other did.


	81. Chapter 7 The Wanderer

_**The Wanderer**_

She was in Candlekeep.

A smile spread across her lips before she could help it. Suddenly it was that day so long ago before any of it all had happened – before she had ever left. The sun was shining and the gardens bright. She twisted about and she could see the Candlekeep Inn and the central keep – their doors were not barred, nor closed over with bricks. There were no shifting-face, devil men hiding in monks' robes to kill her. No, everyone she had known and loved was alive and well and happy. Just as it had been. Just as it should be.

She had been standing amidst the terraces. Now she was suddenly stepping up to the keep door, beaming brightly. Gorion was inside – her father was inside – alive, and happy, and well. She reached a hand out to the door.

It was pushing on empty air before she could realize it. Her eyes fluttered down to the stout wood of the door. Her hand had touched it, barely more than brushed it. But she could already see it fading away, withering under that touch. Wood cracked, blackened, and splintered silently, almost pitifully. She watched. Somehow, she suddenly thought, if it had had a voice, it would have been screaming. She could almost hear it. It curled away from her, recoiling even as it died, crumbling to lifeless husk. And then it was gone, and she was standing before empty space.

She turned, and she was suddenly back on the path winding through the keep. She stared down at her hand before her face, eyes wide on that harmless flesh. But even as she watched, the ground beneath her seemed to recoil as well, bleeding out into gray and black beneath her feet. The light dimmed, the air died, and the gardens wilted and wasted away into a sea of restless corpses. The world died around her, falling swiftly away. And through it all she could just see that crimson glow suffusing her. She looked down, watching as it thickened to the pulsing, throbbing, deepest black at her very core. It churned, twisting. And then she was gone too, swallowed whole before she could even scream.

It was that night when Gorion had died. She watched as her father turned to her, howling for her to flee with her life. He did not this time, though. Instead, he turned away from that armored man stalking up behind him, and on her. Instead, those magicks screamed for her instead. She flew back off her feet, wide-eyed and unfeeling. Then her hands touched earth, and darkness blasted out from her in all directions. It passed through Gorion and he withered away into a blackened, leering skull. The armored man thrust that blade through his back – he still cried out – and then he melted away into nothing as well.

The world turned to ash.

She was in Nashkel, and instead of cheering, drunk-happy miners and townspeople, it was pitchforks and clubs of fire, chasing her down in dark streets and beating her to bloody pulp, jeering. She screamed, and they hurtled away, crumbling to dust in the wind. She was in Beregost and they melted into piles of flesh and bone. Baldur's Gate, and they were torn to ribbons, fluttering away in the black-crimson breeze. Candlekeep again, and they exploded in fiery blood.

Everywhere, they hunted her. Everywhere, she destroyed them. But it wasn't they who were wrong. It wasn't they who were the invader.

She was the monster everyone claimed she was. The Kobold scorned like a rodent. The Ogre that children feared would come in the night. And so much worse. The mobs and their torches like firebrands now came for her, counting her amongst those creatures they once did fear and hunt. Nothing had changed about her. She was still the same she had always been. They just saw her now for what she truly was. A monster.

Or so someone would have had her believe.

Through it all, she heard the voice – a voice she had heard before. A voice that made no secret now of its origins. It spoke of destiny and nature as flesh and blood rained down about her. Of evils bred in the bone as howling faces were hacked to shreds by bloody daggers and knives of flesh. It told her that she would never be free of the mob, that they would never stop hunting her for what she was. And they didn't. They kept coming. As soon as she dashed one to pieces, another took its place – angry, righteous, and terrified beyond all rational thought, each hurling itself at her desperately like raving, dying dogs. Murder and death ran through her heart. Accepting it would only give her power. Power enough to stop them. Power enough to stop them _all_.

Sarevok flashed before her. She dashed him to pieces too. The voice only laughed.

And that was it. She could see a face now – a black hole in her eyes from which that thing spoke to her. Through the death, and the pain, and the bloody murder – she could see it. Gorion had named it. She knew what it was now. Not some alien thing or madness born of that bloody night so long ago. No. It was the essence of a dead god within her – _Bhaal_ within her. And it would not be ignored.

But she didn't ignore it. She had tried to. From the first she had fought that very blood in her veins, fought dagger and claws for each victory, not knowing how or why – only that to not do so meant destruction. Meant that demon wearing her face. Meant no one standing between everyone and everything still in that world that she knew and loved, and that murderous blackness within her. She had been its jail keeper. She had finally managed to lock it away. But that didn't stop it from whispering in the back of her skull. That didn't stop it from waiting for her to weaken enough for it to break free.

Suddenly … she opened that door.

Everything else faded away. That ruse ended. All at once the darkness realized that it was free – that she had released it willingly at last. For a moment, it was surprised. It hardly knew what to do.

It didn't take long to decide.

It pounced on her. It howled and thrashed and threw everything it had – all of its strength – into one single, fatal blow.

It swallowed her whole. For a moment, she was lost from sight and mind. It suffused every part of her, lashing for control. It was as those few times she had been weak enough for it to seize her. Those few times it had been summoned only to wrest dominance away. There was no waking world of friends and allies to stop it now. Victory was swift, and completed. It reeled with the abruptness of it all.

Then it stopped.

She was back. _She_ was there. Everything that made her _her_, and then some. She had never gone. Almost at once, she began to beat it back.

It was hard, so very hard. It took everything. She fought a tide a thousand times greater than herself with every step. It _was_ herself – a part of her. She understood that now. But she, Evelyn, was still winning. It had thrown everything it had at her. It had finally stopped hiding, stopped slithering around in all the dark places inside her heart. She had the whole of it there before her – that blackness that had plagued her from the beginning – and there was no retreat. It had lashed out for the body and she had fled. It had overextended itself in its haste. It was trying to destroy her, but she knew who the real enemy was now.

She had created that demon, long ago. Gorion had helped, by teaching her to keep her distance from it. And when it had finally come bubbling back to the surface after that night he died, she had suppressed it. She had forced it bodily away from her until it had become almost someone else entirely.

There were no other voices in her head. There was only her own. They had become two shades of the same color – the same person. That one was black, but she was hardly white anymore. She had long since begun to fade into gray.

And now she knew what she had to do. She took it back into her – took back what was hers. She didn't fight that black tide for long – she couldn't win. It would have been a stalemate at best. She was fighting herself. No, she took that other voice, and started to break it free of the rest.

She took that part back into her – all the black parts. They were hers anyways. So she took them back. That was the price to be paid – for victory. For sanity. She took the good, and the evil. And before that other even realized what she was doing … she was whole once more.

It howled. It cursed, it screamed, and it faded. There was no substance left to it anymore. She had taken it all away.

She was at peace – almost. Everything grew quiet, and gray. But that was not the end of it. The voice lingered. Part of it faded, dying away into nothingness. Something else stayed behind. Something black. Blacker than anything. She felt it fix on her – a bottomless pit staring back.

This was new. She almost didn't recognize this new voice. It was low, and alien – sinister, and it shook the very walls of her mind. It threatened to rend her apart at the very sinews.

But it had only a foothold. It was weak. She had crushed its vanguard. It hurled threats and blackness at her – promises of power and glory or death and self-destruction. But it was inflated. It was little more than air and empty space now. She realized those threats for what they were quickly enough. Empty.

It began to quiet. It did not leave like the other. She didn't think it could. But it grew weaker and weaker as she saw through its ruse. It seemed to realize its own futility. But it also realized hers.

As it faded back into the core of her, it left her with something. A threat – a warning. It spoke of others that would listen where she had not. Others that would embrace what she had rejected. And others that would be her death. She might have broken free of its thralldom – for the time. But there were others that would be its willing pawns. And destroy her, and everything.

Just before it finally fell silent, something flashed before her mind's eye. A man, a tall demon of a man. With glowing eyes, and a blade as black as night.

Sarevok.

She reeled in surprise, it was so unbidden and so close. Before she could do anything more, that image raised one powerful arm and struck her hard.

It sent her reeling back to the world of the living.

And she woke up.

* * *

Jaheira gave her a scrutinizing look through the mirror, her face scrunching up. Then it smoothed. She bobbed her head.

"I think it will do."

A genuine smile crept onto her lips for a moment, as the older woman turned back toward her. She started busying herself with some of the lace on Evelyn's sleeve. When she was done, she looked up.

"I doubt even Gorion could have recognized you," she said, still half-smiling. Someone laughed at that from behind. Imoen. But it was only half-hearted, in surprise, and ended quickly enough. There would have been too much on each of their minds just then.

Evelyn studied that woman in the mirror for a moment, ignoring them both. She was swallowed all in soft, sumptuous silk, gilded in silver lace and ribbon above a tightly bound corset that hugged her ribs. Skirts hung wide and over her hips. Long, elegant white gloves traced her arms to the elbows. Her hair had been bound in flowing coils overhead, lying like soft clouds that trailed down in twin tendrils to either side of jewel-bedecked earrings.

She was … beautiful.

Evelyn just studied her, silently. Her face was smooth, calm and cool. It added to that image, though she hardly bothered to embellish any more. The older woman was right. Even Gorion would not have recognized her. Even for just that costume alone. And she looked away. It would do.

The gown was all in soft pink. Imoen had chosen it. And her best friend had let her. It hardly mattered anyhow.

The pink-haired woman wore a sad, almost wistful smile on her face, though. She had been pensive. The druid's beside her was somewhat more pleased.

"I certainly think that there will be little worry for getting through the front gates," Jaheira was saying. She cast a wry look for the generous flesh that the whole thing managed to produce at the crown of the dress. Her look was pleased indeed. "If they stop you, it will be entirely for other reasons."

The woman had a right to be so satisfied with her work, though. It had taken the rest of her little coin and then some to afford that whole affair. The Ilmatari priest had been so kind as to help, knowing well just what they were all already doing for the remaining dukes and that city. But now she sobered quickly once more.

"It will be dangerous," the older woman told her. Evelyn only bobbed her head.

"I know."

Jaheira studied her for a few moments, her face unreadable. She abruptly looked away.

"I will see to the seamstresses."

She stepped out of that large booth and back into the shop. The two elderly sisters that had owned it had little trouble fitting the raven-haired woman on such short notice – indeed, they had chattered on endlessly while they took her measurements about just how difficult work in that city usually was for them. Far too many of the noble ladies thought far too little of their acquired girth, it seemed, and the two had no end of trouble in keeping from insulting some fabulously wealthy duchess or courtier every time they seemed to throw a social. They had already had some problems, what with the ceremony that night and all, and had been doubtful enough when quickly realizing just what they wanted and for whom. But Jaheira's precious little gold had changed their minds readily enough.

It was nearly evening. She could see the darkening streets of Baldur's Gate just beyond the drawn curtains of the dressing booth. She stared at them for a long moment after the druid had gone. Eventually, she opened her mouth.

"I think you should go back," she said. The pink-haired woman immediately perked up from where she sat on a chest ahead of her.

"What?"

"To Candlekeep," Evelyn continued. "When this is over." She was still staring at the street.

There was a moment's pause. Then Imoen spoke back.

"We both will," she offered, almost eagerly. "As soon as we're done." Another pregnant pause. And then, "I want to see Gorion."

Evelyn didn't look at her. There was a slight smile frozen on her smooth face. She only bobbed her head slightly, fingering that mismatched necklace her best friend had given her. It was the one thing she had refused to give up.

"Mmhm."

It was quiet for a little while longer. It didn't last. Before long, the other woman stood, reaching a hand back toward those curtains.

"I'm gonna go see how Minsc is," she offered. Evelyn didn't say anything in response. The other nodded her head to herself just the same. Then she pushed out and away, leaving that curtain open.

At length, Evelyn turned back toward the mirror, studying that woman there once more. There was no trace of fear, or excitement, or even anger. There was just cool, calm certainty. Peace. There were no more questions, no more doubts. She even let herself smile, genuinely for once. Small and genuine. The effect was stunning with how they had made her up. Beautiful. A wanted poster on every tavern wall, and no one would recognize her at all. Not until it was too late.

It faded away for a moment, and then there was just Evelyn staring back. She looked …

… Happy.

"Now there is the young woman Gorion would have loved to someday see."

She blinked, eyes flashing up from herself in the mirror. Someone sat, just outside beyond the curtains to one side on a stool. He was facing the streets, but his eyes were on her. They met through the glass. And hers suddenly went wide.

"You …" she breathed, incredulous. For a moment, it was all she could manage.

The old man chuckled richly to himself, beaten lips twisting about his pipe. "For all Gorion's careful planning, he was no different than any other father, I should think. Even if he was not truly thine own."

She stared at him. She wasn't sure just what to say.

"Good day to thee, young one," he began anew for her, though, good-naturedly. He took his pipe out and tapped it against a boot beneath crimson robes. "What a marvelous happenstance that we should again cross paths, especially in such a grand city as this."

He glanced briefly up and about. Her eyes remained fixed and wide, on him. Her mouth dropped open, but she only sucked in a breath instead. No words quite came.

She hadn't seen him since Beregost – since before the Cloakwood. She hadn't even seen him cross behind and sit down. But that weathered old wrinkled face was the same. That bent old hat flapping down next to him was the same. They were not the ones she had broken beneath Candlekeep.

He studied her amusedly for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"Ahh," he grinned warmly, "but I see by thine eyes that thou've no time for my wry banter." Two bushy eyebrows waggled at her. "'Tis true, our meeting was no accident, though I do honestly take pleasure in seeing thee again."

He stood. She half expected to hear the wearied creak of ancient bones. But there was none.

"Now," he said, "let me have a closer look at thee."

She watched as he slipped into the booth and nearer, until he was just behind her. He studied her through the glass for some time, content with silence. Eventually, she managed to break it.

"How did you find me?" she asked. She could have almost wondered if it was so simple to do so. That woman had done it easily enough as well.

The old man only raised a bushy, white eyebrow at her.

"Oh, all citizens of the Sword Coast eventually pass through Baldur's Gate," he mused aloud, "and I knew thou wouldst as well. Not once, but twice now," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Forgive my continued meddling, but I believe it is warranted – especially considering the pressures thou art no doubt confronting."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. For a moment. She sobered herself quickly enough, though.

"Ah, yes," that other's face only twisted into a soft, grandfatherly smile. "My pestering of thee no doubt pales in comparison to the influence thou've felt from others, including thine own self," he continued quickly. "Gorion raised thee as best he could," he lowered his wizened head, "but 'tis hard to overcome what is bred in the bone. Much more so in this case, I would imagine."

The old man had gradually hardened, until his tone was serious once more. She all but stiffened at the words. Her own were deathly calm, and quick.

"What do you mean?"

The other's lips twitched upwards briefly at the sides.

"Gorion often chided me for my obliqueness," he told her, "though he was fond of a little …" he searched for the words with his pipe, "… _verbal_ hide and seek as well." His ancient face smoothed. "Thou've come quite far, and though my answers are less than obvious, I do hope they help a little."

Her eyes fixed on his intently through the glass. There was still that same spritely mirth there, beneath the sudden severity. Her own look had grown grave.

He stared her down for a while. Then he opened his mouth once more. He settled his pipe there.

"Gorion was long my friend," he managed about a mouthful of stem, "and we spoke often." Almost at once, smoke began to waft out of the top. "Though less so after he settled down with thee. He was quite the traveler in his day," he added, almost as if it should have surprised her, "though he never regretted his new role as foster father. He felt a stable childhood would better prepare thee for …" He dabbed that pipe in the air for a moment, thoughtfully. "Well … the problems that would eventually come. He cared deeply for thee."

Those crystalline eyes fixed her hard anew.

"I _hope_ this was not lost on thee."

She met those eyes evenly. She shook her head. Then she opened her mouth to speak.

"He was a Harper," she said. The other gave her a curious look in turn.

"_Was_ … yes," he mumbled thoughtfully about the pipe. "Of course, that all changed when he settled down with thee, so I was told. Though, in practice," he continued, shaking a finger at her, "I think thine foster father never truly laid down the mantle."

She frowned at him. He puffed on his pipe back at her. A few moments passed in silence.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked, when he only seemed to wait. She shook her head once more.

"My worry," the old man spoke over her question, "is that thy lineage is harder to escape than most. Thou've bad blood in thee, young one. Thou've _hungry _blood within thee, and it will not let thee go without a fight. Gorion knew this. He did what he could to teach thee well and true."

Her eyes widened. It was slow at first, but then it abruptly dawned on her, realization hammering hard with brute force.

"You knew?" she demanded. Her voice was low, angry, and stammering. "You … you …"

The old man just surprised her by laughing. His frail body shook with the suddenness of it.

"Of course, child," he chided. "Gorion could not have kept it secret for long, least of all from me. I knew long before thou wert grown of thy _true_ heritage."

"You knew." The words just toppled out of her mouth. "And you did _nothing_ …" Cold, and loathing.

Those piercing eyes steadied on her for a moment, pulling back. That look on his face became almost guarded.

"Thy foster father kept the truth of thy birth secret from everyone," he told her slowly, carefully, "withdrawing from our ranks to do so. Though, he knew well that we could not just leave him be. 'Twas_ I_ who kept the rest at bay. 'Twas _I_ who supported Gorion's efforts with thee nearly from the beginning."

She was scowling at him through the glass. Her jaw twitched.

"Why?" she demanded. "_Why?_" She needed to know.

He pulled the pipe free from his mouth.

"Gorion's tutelage was hard on thee," he offered gently, "harsh, stricter than most, I should say. Thou art his pride and joy. He loved thee as if his own flesh and blood." The pipe slipped back in. "But what is bred in the bone is difficult to overcome."

He raised a bushy eyebrow, and then that pipe was immediately back out and stabbing toward her in the mirror.

"Thou hast killed," he said matter-of-factly. It was no question. "Thou hast done murder in thy brief time alone." The pipe pulled back. "But how many of those souls were good?" he asked curiously. "How many of those stood beneath the agents of chaos and destruction and barred thy path?"

Those eyes flashed briefly toward the elegant gown she was wearing – the costume they had made. Then they were back on her.

"What doth thou intend to do now?" He stuck it back again in his mouth. His words were slow, inexorable. "Gorion hath steered they course from the cradle."

She frowned up at him. But he wasn't finished with her just yet.

"Thou art a weapon, young one," he said at the last. "A child of murder set against all other children of murder. A weapon against their chaos. Thou art doomed to doom all those others doomed by their bastard father of the Abyss. _That_," he dipped his wizened head, "is what Gorion knew thou must be from the first day he found thee so long ago."

She stared at him. He stared right back. Then he settled back, and puffed at his pipe.

She opened her mouth, started to speak. Then thought better of it. Her jaw snapped shut, and she shook her head, letting her eyes fall. Eventually … she glanced back up.

"But why?" she asked. It was all she could think to say. And the other certainly didn't help. A broad smile lit his gentle face of a sudden then.

He gestured knowingly with his pipe instead of answering, bushy eyebrows waggling. It was all he gave her.

He sobered.

"For better or worse," he sighed, "what's bred in the bone will be dealt with in time. I trust thou've the will to face what is within thee?"

She didn't answer him. She just met his gaze evenly. He smiled down on her from behind nonetheless.

"I am sure the future will be kind to thee."

She lowered her head. She could not help the grimace. When she looked back up, Elminster was gone.

Evelyn twisted around. But there was no one there. No sign of anyone. It was almost as if he had never been.

His words still hung heavy in the silent air, though. They were hard – hard to digest, fully. But she realized, with a sinking feeling, just how little they should have surprised her after all.

_From the cradle_ …

She had been meant to do something important. That much was true. She had discovered that already. Sarevok … Sarevok was to be destroyed. She knew that too. But others? Other children of murder? Other … children of Bhaal?

She was a weapon. She was a tool. The thought of it struck her so very hard just then. It shouldn't have. But it did.

"Why?" was all she could ask the empty air where the old mage had been. She shook her head. "Why …"

But there was no answer. She had already gotten hers. And there would be no other.

It wasn't fair. She choked on the bitter thought of it, nearly casting it away. It wasn't fair. Sarevok had destroyed her life. It was laughable … but she could have lived with that. She _had_ been living with just that. Now … now a mad old mage would have her believe that it had all been for a purpose. Her life had been _ruined_ – all for some purpose. Her life – She _had_ no life. It had never been hers to begin with. She was nothing but a … but a stupid … _tool_ …

It was all so very hard to swallow just then. Even after everything that had happened already …

It _was_ …

She didn't have much longer to wonder about it, though. Jaheira was suddenly pushing her way into that space once more.

The druid came up short, frowning at that look on Evelyn's face. But she hardly let it slow her. She gestured quickly after the younger woman.

"We need to leave," she told her, twisting immediately back about. "We hardly have enough time as it is."

She left. And, after another moment, Evelyn was right behind her.

She was a tool. Even in her silken dress … she was nothing more than that. She was no better than a hammer.

Well.

She took a deep breath as she strode out, nearly gagging on it.

It was time to go find her nail.


	82. Chapter 7 Pomp and Circumstance

_**Pomp and Circumstance**_

Evelyn glanced down to the twin pieces of folded, gilded parchment in her hand. Then she turned them over and handed them to the man beside her. Ajantis took them without a word.

It was warm outside the Ducal Palace that night, almost uncomfortably so. The knight did not to notice, even bedecked in regalia as she was – a gilded and laced red coat and dark trousers. He just studied those invitations briefly, before letting them fall down against his side.

That woman – Tamoko, she had finally offered her name – had given them to her. It was their only means by which to get into the Ducal Palace that night, and they had gone through much trouble to make sure that they did get inside. No one had bothered asking her just how she'd gotten them. She hadn't given anyone the chance. And there was no question about Evelyn being the one to go. The Waterdhavian nobles' son had seemed the next best choice.

There were other nobles gathered all around them. Chatter hung heavy in the air, interspersed with gruff words from the Flaming Fist that herded them along and inside. It must have been the whole city's worth. A few of the resplendent men and woman had tried to engaged them while they all waited, drifting slowly but steadily within. But Ajantis had been preoccupied, almost curt. Evelyn just tried to smile her best and stayed out of it. She had to remind the knight irritably, though, just why he was there in the first place.

"You're _supposed_ to be helping," she had growled at him over her teeth and painted smile as soon as she got the chance. He only stared at her, almost incomprehensible with whatever it was rolling around inside his head.

He blinked. "What?" And she turned away with a low sound in her throat.

It was a good thing he had had those good clothes on his own. Jaheira's gold would have been wasted on him.

"Just … try a little harder," she managed more evenly. After a moment, he looked away. He nodded.

Gods knew she would have tried Jaheira, Imoen, or even Dynaheir if they didn't think a noble couple more appropriate and less noticeable. Even Xan might have worked well enough if it weren't for the unseemliness of an Evereskan Elf attending. Kivan and Minsc had certainly been out of the question.

She frowned at the knight, but only shook her head. At least he had managed to rein in that enmity toward her. Or seemed to. Though, from what little she knew of nobles, that might have been a little less suspicious.

Neither of them had their weapons. Not that it would have done much good with half of the city's garrison there anyways. It could almost have made her think that whole charade unnecessary – Jaheira had certainly almost said as much. But she knew as well as Evelyn did just how little to trust to chance with Sarevok Anchev. Besides, that was not why she was there.

Sarevok was going to kill the rest of the Grand Dukes. From what Jaheira had learned in the Undercellars and all that they knew already, that much certainly seemed obvious enough. He was staging a coup of the entire city, and he would have control over it almost overnight with the rest of them gone. But it mattered only a little. She was here for him, and him alone.

The older woman had not been happy – sending her in there unarmed and all but alone. The Flaming Fist certainly weren't going to help her. But she wasn't worried. She would do what she must. With her bare hands if need be. She would get no other chance.

It kept a smile painted on her face at least, whenever they chanced to draw the attention of any of those other moneyed and finely dressed men and women. She managed well enough, sparing only a few frustrated looks and remarks for the knight, who as yet had barely paid any heed. Mostly, she just asked questions, and listened. There was little else to do while they waited on the Flaming Fist to let them inside the palace. It was slow enough going, but no one seemed too much bothered by it at all.

"Make my routes through here between Amn and Waterdeep," one man had told them, a young woman hanging off his arm half the man's age and silently staring on, "though trade has certainly soured of late in the south," He was a captain of some ship in port, his first mate standing stiff and uncomfortable beyond his shoulder. The older man seemed not to notice, just enjoying himself immensely.

"Dunnae see much for such gatherings – never us old salts getting invited as it were," he continued affably. "Certainly are none too few familiar faces about though." He twisted his head about briefly, toward the crowd, coming back to wink at them. Evelyn only nodded graciously.

She had noticed that too. The majority of those there were young, budding nobles, sea captains, well-to-do merchants, and officers of the Fist dressed in smart parade uniforms. There were so very few older lords and ladies, and what she would have thought to be the elders of the city itself. She wondered if they had deigned not to come or just not been invited. She wondered what it meant.

"Said you were from Waterdeep, did you not, Lord … Ilvastarr, was it?" The sea captain was saying. Ajantis didn't seem to even realize he was being asked a question until her elbow jabbed his ribs.

"Ah – yes, yes," he snapped back toward them, looking none too happy. He would have scowled at her, she was sure, had that older man not been so attentive just then.

"Ilvastarr?" the captain mused. "Breeders, yes?" He stabbed a thumb at the knight. When the younger man nodded, the captain snapped his fingers. "I knew it sounded familiar. Done much trading out of there with livestock to Amn. Must be a bit of bad luck headin' your way then. Though," he bent in conspiratorially, "just between you and me, word is horse-flesh is the market for the Gate right now. Good place for ye to be, lad."

The captain clapped Ajantis' shoulder a few times, and turned away, striking up word with someone else he recognized in the crowd. Evelyn only opened her mouth to say something chiding to the knight. When she caught sight of his face, though, it was grim, almost forlorn. She frowned. Then she turned away.

"Come on."

He had sense enough to take her arm up quickly at least, and keep along.

They met a few more people like the captain – she hadn't bothered to catch his name – before they reached the gates. A wealthy steelsmith, a cavalry mercenary lieutenant, another old captain who couldn't help spitting after each word, some lordlings no older than her … every last one of them had a reason to be excited for the ensuing coronation. It had not been announced, not officially. But everyone knew. And every last one of them there, she was willing to wager her life on it, would not have allowed anything less than a Grand Duke Sarevok to walk out of those doors tomorrow morning.

"He needs us, you see," the lieutenant had told her when she asked about it all. "Cavalry, infantry, seamen, ships – every last one of us." He shook his head lightly. "The Flaming Fist might be all well and good … but it won't account for much if left alone against Amn. Sarevok Anchev means to push for war," he said gravely, "and not a one of us would be ready but to follow him and reap the riches in plunder to be had."

Evelyn had stared off thoughtfully at that. It certainly made enough sense. She could just wish that there was some hole in it all. The more she learned of her father's murderer, the more she realized just how much cleverer than she he truly was. And had been so from the very beginning. By all rights she should have been dead long ago. It didn't matter.

"Have you ever been to Athkatla, my Lady Ilvastarr?" he had asked pleasantly before leaving. "Beautiful." He shook his head, then bent to kiss the back of her hand once more. "I would not worry. You will see it soon enough, I promise … when we march right through."

Eventually, they made it to the palace gates. She didn't even hesitate before marching right up and through. She didn't recognize the sergeant in command waving people through, and he didn't recognize her. That was good enough. And then they were inside.

To say it wasn't easily the grandest place she had ever seen, let alone been inside, would have been obscene. No few among the nobles and merchants and soldiers about them gawked and gaped and gussed over the sprawling marble, plush crimson carpets, hanging monoliths of chandaliers, and gallant music. Evelyn even had to stop for a moment, never having seen or heard anything like it. There was a row of musicians in the vaulted chamber beyond, sounding brash and grand and pushing everyone along to a galvanizing tempo that boiled the blood. It ushered them quickly through a dim anteroom with the rest, out into the blinding dawn of that grand central chamber.

It was a ballroom. People were already dancing, all but marching with clapping boots along the marble floor to the stormy cadence. Soldiers mostly. A few sailors too, and that cavalryman she had seen earlier. There was no doubt about it. They were the drums, and the steady blasts, of war.

Entertainers straggled around. No few magicians plied their tricks. Fire and light danced. A man juggled. In one corner, a group of bowmen had even set up a range and were busy competing with each other for the mark. A few more pockets of martial sports, drinking, singing, and laughing. It was pervasive. It was infectious. It was … chaos. And it was almost impossible not to be swept up along with it, or drowned beneath. Somehow, Evelyn managed.

They both came to a stop. The room was unimaginably loud, but still she lowered her voice.

"We'll have to wait for him," she said simply, uselessly. So much was obvious. She shook her head. From there … she wasn't quite sure what she would do. Get close? Maybe. She caught sight of Commander Dosan in one corner, surrounded by Flaming Fist and mercenary officers. They all laughed uproariously of a sudden. Dosan's lips merely twitched. Captain Grayne stood stiffly close by to one side.

She shook her head again, and looked elsewhere in the vast chamber. Flaming Fist guards were crawling everywhere, blocking every entrance, scouting every balcony, every stairway. She could feel her hopes fall a little at that. Just a little. She had expected it anyways.

She sighed, deeply. Then she rounded on Ajantis. To her surprise, the knight was waiting for her.

"Shall we dance?" he asked quietly, gravely. She blinked up at him. Those must have been the first unprompted words he had spoken all night, least of all to her. She glanced away to the ballroom floor, suddenly unsure of that. But he didn't give her a chance to answer. He was already leading her away.

She had never danced before in her life – not really, and she started flashing her eyes about furtively as they merged into the others on the floor. Thankfully, the music slowed somewhat, to a gentler rhythm, at least for the moment. Thankfully, too, the knight seemed to anticipate her inability and took a firm lead from the beginning, all but pulling her along into those stilted motions while trying to keep it from being painfully obvious that he was doing so. She hardly had a chance or the inclination to object. Pretty soon, she was just following as best she could, and trying to seem natural enough to escape notice.

She didn't know what the other two Grand Dukes looked like, but she glanced quickly about as they swept across the floor anyways. There were no few groups of men and women in their finest, and certainly no few amongst which that regalia almost seemed blinding to her eyes, it was so rich. But they were all joking and laughing, having a good time over carved glasses of sparkling wine. She dismissed them all too quickly.

It wasn't until she found that one man, frowning and preoccupied, amidst all the beaming faces, proud and aloof and drowned in a throng of revelers always prompting for his word, that she thought she had one. Grand Duke Aaron Belt. There was a woman hanging off his arm, but it was his wife, not the other. The Grand Duke Liia Jannath. Still, she had found one.

Whatever happened, Sarevok would have to kill both Grand Dukes that night. Otherwise, his coup would likely never make it past those doors. And she was sure he knew about Eltan's escape. It was a race against time for them both.

But protecting the dukes was not why she was there. Whether he killed them or not, he would be dead – by her. It wouldn't make much difference if he were crowned sole ruler or not. It wouldn't do him much good down in the Hells.

So she would just have to wait for him. She kept her eyes roving steadily, surreptitiously. But she was sure she would know if he was there. She would feel it, she knew. And she didn't, not yet. Still … she watched, and waited.

"Evelyn."

They were still dancing. She blinked, glancing back toward the knight. He was speaking to her. The music had changed tempo again. It was slow and soft, but rapidly swelling into what must have been another march.

"What?" she asked.

For a moment, he didn't answer. He just looked at her. She could see those same hard thoughts jostling around inside his skull. She frowned, but the man seemed not to have any trouble letting his feet work on their own. She wasn't so fortunate. But then he opened his mouth once more.

"Evelyn?" he managed before it fell shut again.

She kept frowning at him, and he worked his jaw for a moment, seeming unsure of just what to say.

"Yes?" she prompted after another moment. She probably shouldn't have. He fixed on it with sudden purpose as if it were a lifeline.

"Have you," he began. Swallowed. And then he tried again. "Have you found feelings for someone else, Evelyn?"

She was suddenly whipped about at the crash of a drum. It was a moment before she came back to make sense of that, brow furrowing and thoroughly thrown of center. His voice had been low, almost angry. It seemed like an accusation. And when she came back around to face him, and the look on his face – she was sure that it was.

"What?" she hissed in surprise, incredulous.

The knight only ground his teeth before throwing her to arm's length and back again.

"Have you?" he demanded irritably once more, gaining some confidence in his words now. As if it should have made any more sense to her than the first time.

She shook her head fiercely. "What are you talking about?"

That only seemed to frustrate him more. His face had flushed crimson by now, but he didn't seem to care. He all but growled at her next.

"The Elf."

His teeth chomped down hard on that word. She only gave him another hopelessly quizzical look.

"Which one?"

It was the wrong thing to say to him just then. She realized that as she whirled about and away, skirts flying. When she came back, he had only grown worse.

"The Evereskan." He did growl then. His teeth all but flashed. "I _saw_ you …"

Her eyes went wide at that, and she didn't say anything for a moment. But it was in surprise. Whatever he took it for, it was not that.

They spent the rest of the dance in silence afterwards. He had closed down, even more so than before. It would have been just as well, had it not left her startled, and open. She knew what he was talking about. She knew _exactly_ what he was talking about.

"_This is not what I meant."_

It had been Xan saying those grim words to her, eying her almost warily just earlier that night. He had followed her to a cramped space in the Ilmatari shrine where she had finally found another mirror.

"_What do you mean?" she asked offhandedly, examining the seamstresses' handiwork for what must have been the dozenth time. It just had to get her inside …_

"_It is suicide, Evelyn," he told her bluntly, "and what is more … you know it."_

_She tinkered with her coifed and bound hair. Then she checked that space just beneath her skirt along the thigh. Gorion's dagger was strapped snugly and safely there underneath._

"_It doesn't matter."_

_She glanced briefly up at him through the mirror. He still stood in the doorway, half in and half out. At that, though, he abruptly strode forward._

"_What do you mean?" he demanded. "How can you say that?"_

_She twisted about to face him. He came up short._

"_How can you possibly think that?" he uttered, low and soft, "after … _everything_."_

_She didn't answer him. She didn't have to. After a moment, she just strode right by. She had somewhere to be._

_But he snatched her arm up swiftly, staying her. She turned coolly back on him, and he seemed so much more than frustrated just then._

"_Do not …" his jaw worked, but accomplished little. "Do not do this," he managed after a moment, softly, almost desperately. "Evelyn. Not alone. Not after all of … this."_

_Her lips twitched upwards for a moment. "I'm not," she said simply, smiling sadly at him. His face only fell, hardening. They would not be coming with her. None of them would. Not where she was going._

_He didn't say anything more, just stood there. After a moment, she cupped his head in both her hands, reached up, and kissed him._

_It lasted only a moment, soft, gentle, and tender – just as she meant it to be. Then she pulled back. He had gone shock still. And she only smiled back._

_She released him. He only stared at her, face frozen, almost horrified. She supposed it was what she must have looked like back in the Elfsong Tavern that one morning. Only she knew just what she was doing, and all that it could mean. He didn't. He hadn't. It had nearly ruined him._

_It was what he had wanted … all along. A simple thing really. All the more so since it wouldn't matter at all after that night. So she gave it to him, and let it go. Easily._

_She reached another hand up, and gently touched his cheek. He still had not moved, or spoken. His eyes followed her the whole way._

"_Go home, Xan," she said, simply. She smiled at him once more. And then she turned away. _

She had just left him standing there.

But now it was Ajantis. She left him there too, without meaning too. Harshly, roughly. Abandoning him there without a second thought. Nevermind that it was his own fault.

She came back, but he was cold – _dead._ There was nothing more she could say or do. So she just let him go. It didn't matter anyways. But, if she had doubted whether or not she could have counted on him before, there was no question in her mind now. She would be on her own. Somehow, she had always known that was just how it would be.

The dance ended. It wound down, and even before she could think of an excuse to step away, the music died. Nearly the whole room was left looking about in surprise and confusion, a hole suddenly seeming to be left gaping wide in that ambience. Voices hushed, briefly cowed by it. And before they could start up again, something had already taken their place.

Doors opened suddenly on the grand balcony above, at the head of the room. The sound was deafening in the sudden silence. Once they had settled, footsteps quickly picked up where they had left off. And then people were pouring out of that hall into the vaulted chamber beyond.

Everyone watched, gazing on silently as a procession began. A mass of Flaming Fist swirled about until a man pushed out at their fore, flanked by a few others. It was that man to which all eyes were suddenly drawn, though. It was to that man that the fervor of the whole ceremony suddenly came crashing down from.

Someone let out a cheer. Almost to the cue of it, that procession started down the arching steps leading along to the main floor. Clapping started up everywhere. Ajantis glanced about, looking grim. Evelyn's eyes never left that man at their fore.

They took their time. When they finally reached the floor, the dancers gave way their throng and allowed the Flaming Fist a wide berth. That man she had seen earlier – Grand Duke Belt – pushed through, making his way to join the others now at the front of the crowd. They stopped there.

Belt reached out and quickly shook hands with that dusky-skinned man in the lead, as well built and sturdy as he, a wry smile upon his dark lips. Then he moved to the woman beside him and bent low over her hand, kissing it. In the next moment, he had pulled her up before the crowd beside him.

The duke raised both arms. The applause soon ceased. He eyed the crowd briefly after it had finally quieted. Then he opened his mouth to speak.

"Now that all of our guests have arrived," he began, voice booming loud, full, and rich. If ever there was a man to command attention, she was sure it was he. "We can begin with the ceremony that you have all been awaiting."

More clapping. The man had a hand up once more after letting it run its course. The whole of the grand room had pulled up to listen. It went quiet once again.

"As all of you know," Belt continued, "this is a special occasion for the city of Baldur's Gate." He swept those handsome, heavy eyes steadily about the crowd. "It is time for a new person to join our ranks – that of the Grand Dukes. I do not wish to downplay the tragedy that we suffered with the loss of Entar Silvershield," his voice dipped low and somber for a moment, "but this is not the time to show grief."

He straightened, casting the woman beside him a brief glance. Evelyn quickly realized she must have been the Grand Duchess – Liia Jannath. That other man was still standing beyond them both, looking proud and pleased – expectant. Belt started strong anew.

"The votes have been tallied from those submitted by the landowners," he announced. "The result was nearly unanimous."

"What of Duke Eltan?"

Someone had abruptly called out, cutting off the Grand Duke's steady voice swiftly. The crowd broke as one, heads turning about to see just who it had been, or who might have dared to interrupt. Before they could, however, another had joined the first.

"Has his condition improved at all?"

That one sounded from the opposite side. The man it belonged to was staring hard and expectant ahead at the Grand Dukes before them.

"If he dies, who will replace him?" he persisted.

The room was quiet for a moment, only a moment. Aaron Belt just frowned. Then a woman broke in as well, bringing everyone to her.

"What about the rumors of Amn mobilizing for war?" she demanded. "Why aren't _we_ preparing for war?"

Liia Jannath opened her mouth, but someone shouted out of a sudden in agreement. The duchess glanced toward Belt beside her. The crowd had quickly become a sea of roving, murmuring heads, and no few became vocal after that last little row.

"With our iron shortage, how are we to defend ourselves?"

"Who will give us the iron we need?"

"What of the Zhentarim?"

"I heard they may be involved somehow!"

"Eltan was poisoned by Shadow Thieves! They're obviously trying to kill our leaders!"

Belt finally had a hand up, but it hardly settled anyone. Too many questions were flying about in that vast open space above them of a sudden. Evelyn glanced about toward them briefly but kept her sights fixed on that tall man standing behind the Grand Dukes. There was no mistaking those black eyes. They seemed to catch the light briefly, and glow just the slightest bit. That smile twisted his dark lips all the more.

"All of your questions will be answered in due time," Duke Belt was saying, both hands up now and trying to assuage the crowd, "you need not worry." But they were having none of it. Another nobleman was shouting again at them almost immediately.

"Entar was killed by Shadow Thieves, agents of Amn! If it isn't obvious to the rest of you," that man glanced about quickly to the rest of those gathered, "it's obvious to me – Amn wants _war_!"

There were no few cries at that – no few angry pleas and demands shouted forward and hurtled at the Grand Dukes' feet. All at once, the duchess was striding a step forward, sparing only a glance for her hard-set companion beside. She had to nearly shout herself to make herself heard.

"The evidence that we have found," she snapped. Those other voices softened somewhat to listen, and she continued. "It does resemble the work of the Shadow Thieves, but–"

"_Resembles_!" someone scoffed of a sudden. "That's ridiculous!" An accusing finger thrust up toward the duchess. "The signature left behind on the body _was_ the mark of the Shadow Thieves. Are you blind _and_ stupid, woman?!"

"If I _may_ continue," Liia Jannath spoke over him coldly. The incensed man faded back into the crowd, and it had almost gone silent in shock at that outburst. "The signature left behind was very blatant," the duchess continued swiftly, "and could have been put there to mislead us."

"Who would want to mislead us?" another voice demanded instantly. Evelyn began to wonder if it was the same one, but there were no few spread amongst the crowd.

"Perhaps I could interject something," Duke Belt was saying loudly then, and all eyes drew back toward him, "before this meeting degenerates into meaningless bickering …"

He waited, eying those gathered sternly. But no one broke in this time. He continued.

"We are here to welcome our new Grand Duke," he told them, "so perhaps we should get on with it."

He swept an arm back about, extending it toward that man standing behind him. The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture as one.

"Introducing," Belt looked back, "the new Grand Duke … Sarevok Anchev."

If Evelyn had thought the din loud before, she wasn't nearly prepared for what so abruptly followed next. The whole room just erupted into thunderous applause at those words, bounding up and drumming against the eaves until the chandeliers above shook and it seemed the roof must come crashing down. Even some of the Fist had stopped their guard and joined in, beaming excitedly. There were no few cheers and shouting. Belt raised an eyebrow, and gestured for that man behind to join him and Liia. And he was only all too willing to oblige.

Evelyn felt her heart leap into her throat so that she could all but taste it between her clenched teeth. The blood started thumping in her veins as she watched that man stride forward in his golden laced dark coat and trousers, looking for all the world the next hero of that black city full of murderers instead of the murderer himself. The crowd cheered him on relentlessly, and there was a cold, amused smile plastered across his strong, handsome face. Its trimmed black beard crinkled about his lips like a dark halo to his voice.

She started forward.

Almost at once, Ajantis' hand snaked out of nowhere and snatched her back. She twisted around ready to break that arm before she realized just who it was. Even so, it only gave her slight pause. The knight jumped right on her before she could do anything, though.

"What do you think you are doing?" he growled down at her. His eyes roved quickly about. No one else seemed to be paying them much attention. "You wouldn't even make it to the stage."

She glared at him, and then at everyone else still clapping enthusiastically with hands above heads all about them.

"Don't even try to stop me," she snapped in warning, her voice deathly low. The other opened his mouth even as she was wrenching back about and away, but another cut them both off short.

"I am honored to be here before such a respected assemblage of this city's leading members."

The crowd grew quickly silent, attentive. Evelyn's eyes found their fore once more. She would have recognized that voice anywhere. It was the one that had caused her so much pain and trouble.

"I accept my new position with full awareness of my new responsibilities," it continued easily, deep bass rich and full and blood-marked. That cold smile had not left its face for a moment.

"And there will be many of them."

Sarevok Anchev stood there. His eyes roamed the crowd slowly, steadily. As they passed her, she wondered if he could feel her there. Her blood all but sang for him. She was still buried deep. She started to edge her way forward.

"But do not worry," his voice marched on. "We are not bereft of defense. Although the recent Zhentish attempt at depriving us of the most valuable war resource, iron, has weakened us … we have _not_ been crippled."

She pushed someone's elbow aside, and it pushed right back. He glared down at her, already cursing angrily. She forced him roughly and bodily away.

"When my father was most recently murdered, I inherited his control over the western branch of the Iron Throne. They have a great deal of stockpiled iron, enough for all of our needs. And despite their questionable practices – which, I assure you, I have never agreed with and do not begrudge their destruction at the hands of vigilantes this past evening – some good might still come of their deeds. I will give this iron to the city to do with as it will."

Cheering. It resounded almost in unison about the chamber. Evelyn paid it no heed. Even when some eyes fell on her disapprovingly, wondering why she did not join in, she just pushed right past them. A trail of oaths and cursing fell in her wake.

"Unfortunately, our greatest military commander lay on his death bed before being abducted by the very Shadow Thieves that poisoned him – undoubtedly to finish their dark deeds. A grievous blow to this city, to be sure. We know not what his affiliation with these spies might have been, but there is conclusive evidence to suggest that they had been working for him from the beginning."

Shock and surprise crashed down upon the crowd like a wave, fierce murmuring swelling up in its wake. None of them had been told that, no doubt. The disappearance of an already poisoned Grand Duke beneath the Flaming Fist's very eyes would have hardly helped matters much. She caught a brief glimpse of Belt and Jannath through a break in the crowd. They looked markedly less pleased than they had been, sharing a crisp look.

"Therefore," Sarevok continued resolutely, "to ensure that the Flaming Fist is well led," his chin snapped up, "_I_ will be assuming direct control of the mercenary regiment within the city limits, with permission from its current steward, Lieutenant Commander Angelo Dosan."

The acting guard commander stood off to one side amidst some of his officers behind the dukes. He merely canted his head at the other man's gesture, face implacable. But then someone was stepping up quickly from one side.

"Wait one moment," Belt broke in abruptly, raising a staying hand toward Sarvok Anchev. "That is not in your power to decide!"

"Shut up!" someone shouted instantly from the crowd. "Let Sarevok speak!"

Belt turned that bristling anger and indignation instantly toward whomever it was that had spoken. But, suddenly, the cry was taken up all throughout. They clamored for more, demanding it. The duke looked back to Liia Jannath sharply, before twisting around.

Sarevok continued on above it all, ignoring them.

"Instead of waiting for the war to come to us," he shouted right back, "we will take it to them!"

Evelyn reached the last leg of the gauntlet, picking up speed. She didn't care who got in her way. They all tumbled bodily aside.

"With the Flaming Fist I will _easily_ take the town of Nashkel. We will fortify the mountain pass through the Cloud Peaks!"

Belt was barking something back at the Flaming Fist behind them. No few had joined in the cheering. Liia was looking anxiously to the roaring crowd. Angelo stood, a sphinx among lesser men.

"We will need men – a fleet!" the dusky new duke trumpeted on. It was only the calm before the raging storm.

"We will take this fight straight to Amn's heart, and _crush_ her where ever she stands!"

Evelyn pushed the last two men to either side. She was standing straight ahead of him.

The cheering exploded in its fever pitch as Sarevok's fist came crashing down into outstretched palm. Gorion's dagger was in her hand.

Sarevok stood there, proud and smiling – that cold, dead smile. The cheering washed over them all, filling the room. Belt and Liia stood there helpless amidst a throng of Flaming Fist. Evelyn took a deep breath.

And then, as one … it all stopped.

Someone cried out from the balconies above. Evelyn twisted instantly back around with the rest of the crowd. A man tumbled over the side of a rail, sailing down to the floor below. A Flaming Fist. He crashed in a pool of metal and blood on the marble.

A woman gasped. Even Sarevok stopped to look up. Evelyn only felt her jaw clench. The two standing there … she recognized them readily enough.

"Madness!" the one man, tall and twisting face painted, screamed down from the rafters. "Curse _us_ will you, child of devils?"

Flaming Fist were already sweeping in from either side. The room had gone deathly still.

A little Halfling leapt up atop the rail beside the wizard. A short bow was in his hands.

"Well here be a message for ye from the Zhents," he growled, drawing back. He found his mark … and loosed.

Evelyn was the first to spin back around. That arrow flashed instantly through the air. It thrust straight for Sarevok's heart.

The room was silent. Evelyn just stared. They all did. Even Belt and Liia seemed more shaken by that sudden happening than anything else. Angelo Dosan's eyes had gone wide. And no few of the Flaming Fist about had taken a hasty step forward, hands on hilt, as if it could have helped. The whole room just caught its breath.

It didn't matter anyways. They all just stood and stared. Sarevok had not flinched. One hand was clutched at his chest, face smooth.

He had caught the thing just shy of flesh in that hand. He pulled it free, leaving a hole there in his fine coat. There was no blood. The wood crumbled in his fist.

"Now," was all he said.

"Seize them!" Belt barked, pulling a blade free from his side and thrusting it up toward Xzar and Montaron. Sarevok didn't even pay them any heed.

Something happened. Evelyn could feel it like a ripple in the tide – through all those bodies squeezed tight. The two Zhents bolted. Flaming Fist boots thudded all along the marble. A moment later … the crowd exploded.

Someone screamed, and Evleyn felt herself knocked forward to the ground even before she had a chance to move. There was a thick, gargling hissing behind her, and she looked up to see someone else hurtling through the air over her head. She ducked, and another followed the first.

Everyone was screaming then. The crowd burst apart in all directions. Evelyn rolled aside ahead of being trampled, crushed, and buried all at once. None too few weren't so lucky. The tide broke everywhere, people pushed, shoved, screamed, and fell. The Flaming Fist surged in from all directions after a moment, but they were carried away almost as quickly as the rest.

She saw a man in plate bowled over ahead of her. She snatched his leg in one hand and pulled herself up. Another jogged past, blade bared. A moment later, he was hammered back, gurgling and grasping at a crushed throat. Evelyn gained her feet, found Gorion's dagger, and twisted back around.

Screaming everywhere. A nobleman tumbled down, rolling toward her along marble. She had to leap over him to keep her feet. Another whirled toward her middle. She caught hold, spun around, and let him fly free. Then she saw it.

Something was standing there amidst it all. A pocket of sprawled bodies and fleeing nobles had formed around it. And still more joined those on the floor as it snatched any stragglers bodily up and tossed them away. Evelyn's eyes only went wide at the sight.

It wore a nobleman's coat and trousers, but the flesh beneath had twisted pale and hairless. Long limbs hammered anyone who got too close. She saw another Flaming Fist go down before he could even bring his blade about.

It was a Doppleganger.

Two lidless eyes fixed on her suddenly before she could even think to marvel at that. All at once, it came striding toward her, club like arm swinging wide for her skull.

She regained her senses then, enough to duck. Someone else tumbled away beside her. She popped back up. The Doppleganger hissed, already reaching for her throat. Before it could take it, though, she had its arm. She snapped it around until something cracked.

The Doppleganger cried out, but she had its head in her hands next. That neck snapped almost too easily.

The thing fell, and she snatched up Gorion's dagger once more. She could see more beyond, stalking through on awkward limbs, tearing apart what was left of the crowd, and tussling with Fist and a few of the mercenary officers brave enough to stand their ground. Most of them went down, too surprised and jarred by the bedlam to hold their own. Evelyn didn't waste a moment.

She turned away.

A few of the older nobles and ladies that had been at the front of the ground, allowed nearest to the dukes, had fled forward, toward them. As they did, though, howling out in surprise and confusion, Sarevok abruptly struck one of those lords down with his bare hands before turning on what must have been his wife. Once both where lifeless on the floor, he twisted back toward the Flaming Fist that still remained behind.

"Dopplegangers!" he bellowed. "Let no one near the dukes!"

Those men seemed to understand. With a thrust of his arm, Sarevok sent the last of them charging forward. Any noble unlucky enough to get in their way was cut down swiftly, even before the men could reach the Dopplegangers themselves. As Evelyn watched, what must have been a good chunk of the city's eldest and most powerful were abruptly torn apart. The younger ones had all been behind.

She started forward. A blade was in her face almost instantly, swinging low. She threw herself beneath it, came up, and sent a fist crashing into skull. The Flaming Fist toppled aside and away.

Now it was a clear run between her and him. Screaming, fighting, and dying drowned the whole room out. The dusky-skinned man was gazing on at that sight before him, keeping that pleased, half-smile to himself. She ignored it. The other two dukes stood close by, horrified. It was just him, and her.

"Sarevok!" she called out, striding steadily forward, dagger in hand. He finally caught sight of her at that moment, eyes snapping toward her through the maelstrom.

Those dark eyes went wide, in surprise. Then they narrowed. That grin spread full across his handsome face.

"Angelo!" He barked back over his shoulder.

The commander, who had been watching that scene with growing concern, hand on hilt, twisted instantly about.

"That's her!" Sarevok stabbed a hand into the room. The other man only frowned. "It's her! She's _here_!"

The commander's eyes finally found her. She had the knife in hand and was closing fast. They flew wide. And then he was shouting at the two men still beside him.

"Hold here, Grayne! Captain – protect the dukes!"

That blade screamed free, and he leapt away into the howling storm.

The one-eyed captain already had steel in hand. He grunted and retreated toward Belt and Liia, pulling the other Fist along in his wake.

Sarevok stepped back, gliding away from her. That grin never left his face. Angelo Dosan swept in between them, continuing on down toward her, blade level. It slipped right in for her neck.

She ducked. He came back around instantly, thrusting. She wove around it, slipping in. All at once, he was back again, barring her path. Eyes burned bright and cold. She moved again, but again he was there. He didn't let her in.

She was faster. Without steel enough of her own, though, he was fast enough to keep her at bay. But he couldn't stop her. She might not have lasted long like that, but it didn't matter. And then, suddenly, there was another blade between them. It surprised them both. When she looked up, Ajantis was there.

He must have grabbed a blade off one of those fallen Flaming Fist. She didn't even wait to see what would happen. As she twisted away, the knight pushed the guard commander back before he could recover. They faded back into the screaming chaos behind. They were alone once more.

That grin on Sarevok Anchev's face hardened, and cracked. Irritation flashed there instead. But he looked away from her. Instead, his eyes found the two other dukes.

That other Flaming Fist with the captain suddenly went down. Grayne twisted around toward him, blade ready, but then steel flashed out of the air and struck him too. He toppled quickly over.

Belt had been looking to Sarevok, his own blade still in hand. But now his eyes were wrenched back about in surprise. No one was close. All of a sudden, they heard something snap above.

One of those magnificent chandeliers came crashing down. Both dukes leapt back in surprise, but it had not been meant for them. Just before it burst against the floor, a dark shape thrust free from atop it. It turned into a man, and through a ripple of exploding shards of glass, it pounced on the Grand Duke Belt.

"Aaron!"

Liia Jannath cried out in horror as he and that other rolled away along the floor. She rounded on him, raising a hand filled with light. Before she could do anything, though, fire suddenly tore into her from the side, forcing her over. A woman appeared there out of thin air, hands raised. She smiled, and followed after.

Evelyn hadn't even missed a step. Now Sarevok turned back toward her, cold smile rekindled.

"You arrived just in time," he rumbled simply. "Little sister …"

She stepped up to him. Gorion's dagger flung high in her hand. It snapped down like the headsman's axe for his throat.

The man sidestepped her easily. His fist came up, batting her aside. She whirled around it, knife slashing again at his neck. He leaned back, just out of reach. Another fist thrust toward her fast. She dove beneath it, snapping up with her own and the knife both. He twisted aside.

The doors crashed open to one side of that vast chamber. More Flaming Fist came pouring in. It only took a moment before they caught sight of those pale-skinned man-monsters still fighting in pockets everywhere about the room. Then they were charging headlong into the fray.

Someone was shouting orders. Belt was rolling around on the ground, wrestling with a man in dark leather trying to pluck out his eyes with a long knife between them. Liia Jannath ducked beneath blasts of fire and acid, flinging blazing balls of light of her own to clash with that other woman howling across the chamber. Ajantis knocked Dosan's blade free, and the man fisted the knight in the side of the head.

Something burst into flames behind them, and Evelyn thought she heard somebody shout her name. Ajantis went down, Angelo leaping over. The knight snatched his ankle, and he tripped.

She thrust in again with her knife. Sarevok snatched her arm, wrenched it around, and tore the little blade free from her all in one, smooth motion. His other arm hammered into her and sent her sailing away with a sharp cry.

She hit the ground with a grunt. The room spun. Then she was on her back, a dozen paces away. She looked up. The other twirled that small blade about until it fit easily in his mighty hand.

"Time to die, little sister."

He started forward.

Angelo was back on his feet. The sound of Dopplegangers hissing as they tore into Flaming Fist was thick in the thin air. That man had his hands around Belt's throat, choking. Liia Jannath was nowhere in sight.

As he neared, Sarevok Anchev's eyes suddenly gleamed bright.

Someone stepped between them. Evelyn only had herself up to her elbows, but a blade slipped in between them. It sliced at Sarevok's middle, slipping past dark coat and tunic. That steel flared blue.

Evelyn's eyes went wide, but Sarevok only leapt back a step before it could bit flesh. That surprise was not for him, though. It was for the Elven mage holding the other length of that gleaming steel.

Sarevok's fist came wheeling about without a moment's pause. It struck the Elf hard on the side before he could even pull back, and then held him tight. With the other, he thrust up with the knife beneath the man's ribs.

Sarevok threw Xan aside before he even had a chance to fall. He was moving swiftly on her once more.

More voices were shouting. She heard boots flying everywhere about the room behind. She threw herself back to her knees, pushing up. A ball of light went screaming over her head.

"Angelo!" Sarevok barked, not losing sight of her for a moment. He had left Gorion's dagger buried in the Elf. A sword suddenly leapt toward his outstretched hand from one side. He caught it easily, and brought it about.

"Goodbye, little sister," he growled, bared his teeth, and thrust.

She threw herself aside. It took everything she had to do it fast enough. And all she managed was another moment as she toppled over and down onto her back. It was almost laughable. The other certainly thought so. He did laugh.

"How did I know it would end like this?" he smirked down at her. Then he pulled back, snarled, and thrust again.

Something struck him from behind, and he grunted. Evelyn had closed her eyes. Now they snapped back open, even as he twisted back around.

That same thing struck him again in the face. He jerked hastily back, steel squealing against marble. He pawed at his face – where the light had struck. Another fistful took him in the chest.

Xan stood there, hunched over, blue-blade drooping low. His hand was up, face pale and bloodless. Those robes were black beneath the hilt poking out of them. He loosed another blast.

Sarevok leapt at him abruptly, all hissing fury. The sword came up, swinging wide. Xan managed to stumble away ahead of it. A half-dozen more swings or so followed swiftly, though, madly. The bigger man was fighting blind. For a moment, the Elf managed to drag himself away.

His eyes found her. For a moment, they cracked, and shattered. Pieces fell away everywhere. They were something else – something new. It broke through her wall.

"_Evelyn_," he breathed, hobbling toward her. She didn't think he realized he had spoken. It was a mistake. Almost at once, the other man seized on the sound. He pounced on him.

She was back on her feet – just in time to glimpse Khalid darting past. A ball of fire screamed ahead of him. The air suddenly shook as it exploded somewhere beyond.

Xan fell back abruptly, Sarevok just missing him with his mad thrusts. He fought on like a wild animal, wounded and tasting fresh blood, all tooth and nail and steel claw. The Elf could only stumble his way on out of reach.

Angelo Dosan came flying up out of nowhere; he suddenly had his arms about her from behind. She hopped up into the air, the inside of his elbow closing for her throat. Her own elbow came down – her boot too, at the knee. She slammed as hard as she could. He fell away.

She whipped back about. Kivan fired an arrow past her head from across the room, and a Doppelganger gargled in its crushed throat as it toppled over behind. That one man who had jumped Belt now traded two daggers with Khalid and Jaheira both at once. Dynaheir flung a handful of fire before taking some herself and twisting violently away. Liia Jannath was there, bloody and battered, flying at the other strange woman suddenly with a knife. She thought she saw Duke Eltan.

Xan traded blows with Sarevok full force now. The large man was seething, eyes open and glowing once more. He stumbled a little, scrubbing at them irritably. The Elf barely turned him aside.

He staggered, blue blade barely warding cold steel. His arm flailed with the effort, other clutched tightly about the knife in his gut. Then Sarevok slowed, eyes finally clear and seeing. He steadied, and smiled.

Evelyn leapt into the air, whirling about until her slippered foot slammed hard into the side of that man's face. It snapped sideways, came back – teeth bared. She spun, leapt up once more, and sent another leg crashing into his chest.

Sarevok stumbled back. She chased him. Then he swung for her head. She ducked. He caught her with a hand. Hilt crashed over her skull. He hefted her up, and sent her sailing high and away.

Xan was there in front of him. Sarevok thrust his blade irritably that way, stepping forward. Blue steel slammed down into it, shattering his. His fist lashed out, wrenching the Elf to him. He shoved what was left of that broken blade into the other man's chest. Then he tossed him away.

A woman screamed, and the one before Liia Jannath abruptly went up in flames. She stumbled away, melting to ash. That other man in leather came hissing about.

"_KRYSTIN_!"

One of those knives flew free from his hand in an instant. It slammed hard into the duchess from behind. She fell. Jaheira cracked him over the back of the skull even as her husband slipped a scimitar up full under his ribs. A moment later, he fell too.

Sarevok came up short. Belt was back on his feet, beaten and bruised, but alive. He dragged his sword up behind him. Duke Eltan was there – somehow – a cadre of Flaming Fist surrounding him as they waded into the mass of the crowd and what remained of the Dopplegangers that had torn it apart. His dark eyes were driven beyond the weak body he stubbornly dragged behind. They flashed toward Sarevok briefly, and a hand thrust vengefully that way. A few of the Flaming Fist broke off and started toward him.

Sarevok twisted back about toward the raven-haired woman lying near-senseless on the floor. She was already starting to claw her way back up. He took a quick step that way, before the sound of booted feet closing brought him up short. His teeth flashed, and he reluctantly twisted back away.

"Angelo!" he snapped as he started toward the stairs leading back up the way they had first come. The other man was sitting on the floor, still shaking some sense into his head and staring dumbly at the sight before him.

Sarevok flew past him and up those steps. The commander only hesitated another moment before dragging himself back to his feet and stumbling up after.

The doors slammed back out of the way at the top, and they were gone.


	83. Chapter 7 Chasing the Demon

_**Chasing the Demon**_

"Dead."

Captain Grayne glanced back up behind him with his one good eye. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled free the knife from beneath his shoulder, just inside the collar of his plate, and tossed it away.

The two dukes stared down past him, the one stiff and rigid, the other looking pale and struggling just to keep himself upright. Eltan had managed to prop himself up with a blade, but he refused any more help from anyone. They both were still, and silent for a time. No one else spoke. Then Belt eased himself down to his knees.

"Oh, Jannath …" He bent low over the dead woman, and kissed her brow. As he pulled away, he swept a hand over her eyes, closing them. He stood.

There was another moment of quiet. It sounded so strange now in that broken hall.

"What now?"

Belt looked to Eltan. The other man only calmly turned about, leaning heavily on that sword. His bluff face looked out across the room toward those others. He grunted, and shook his head.

Evelyn rested there on her knees. The Elven mage lay sprawled beneath her. His robes were drenched in his own blood. She didn't bother to notice the steel jutting out from his stomach and chest. She didn't feel that sticky wetness on her own hands or taste the fresh, coppery scent in the air. She just held the man's limp hand in hers, squeezing him tight.

"Xan?"

The Elf didn't answer. She could feel something welling up in her throat. She nearly choked, numb tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

"Xan?"

She tried again. She squeezed just a little bit tighter. His mouth didn't move. His hand was like ice. She all but crushed it in hers, swallowing hard.

"Xan … please."

His chest had stopped before she had even found him. It had taken her too long to pull herself back together. Sarevok was already gone. It had taken her another moment to throw herself hastily at the wounded Elf.

She was staring at the other's half-lidded, staring eyes. They didn't move.

She did choke then, the wrenching sound ripped free from her throat. The whole room blurred until she couldn't see, and she shook her head. She brought that bloody hand up and squeezed it to her face, wincing. A hot tear snuck down past her cheek.

"Don't worry," she whispered to his cold fingers. She mashed them into her trembling lips, and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

"I'm going to fix everything."

The glow was already in her hands. It suffused them so that she was sure she must be gleaming bright. Her eyes fluttered as she gathered it all in front of her, pooling it in her fingertips. She took a deep breath, kissing his dead hand once more. She set it down.

And then, she pushed it all forward.

Nothing happened.

Her eyes squeezed tight, her face scrunching. She pushed harder.

And still … nothing happened.

It was like a wall. She pushed hard, trying to break it. Her face twisted, teeth bared. She cried out, flinging it all ahead of her. It came whipping just as violently back.

"XAN!" she screeched.

She nearly fell over. She tried again. Her whole body was shaking. Nothing happened. She thrashed it, whipped it, beat it, and stabbed it forward into that lifeless flesh. She drained herself to an empty husk, wilting …

… And then life abruptly flooded her once more.

There was nothing there.

She screamed.

But there was nowhere for it all to go. She was suddenly snatching up two fistfuls of bloody robe in either hand, bellowing like a beast. She screamed, tearing cloth free and hurling it away. Those fists slammed back down into his chest. Again. And again. "No, Xan! _NO_!" Blood spattered all over the pink dress. She snarled down at his unmoving form.

She stopped. Her hands swept clumsily back up her face and through her hair, pulling it free and trailing crimson. She was shaking all over.

Her eyes were wide, staring. Her chest heaved. She felt suddenly dizzy – sick. Her hands slapped back down. Then she laughed, abruptly.

"I've killed you too."

She remembered something he had said, and suddenly couldn't help laughing all the more. It lasted an eternity. No more than a moment. It was so funny. It was all so very, _very_ funny.

A gloved hand alighted on her arm. She started in surprise, quieting. Then Kivan was kneeling down to one side. He looked to her after a moment, and she glanced briefly back around.

Jaheira was standing there with her husband behind, backs to the dukes beyond and looking grim. Ajantis too had come out of the fray, splattered with blood. He slowed to a halt at that sight of the dead Elf atop the marble floor.

"Evelyn?" the half-Elven woman broke in worriedly with a frown. She shared a furtive look with her husband. "Evelyn … are you alright?"

For a moment, Evelyn just stared at her. For a moment.

Then she suddenly turned back down to the ground.

"I'm fine."

She said it simply. There was no trace of anything in that voice then at all.

That frowned deepened. A squadron of Flaming Fist rumbled down the stairway behind, stopping hurriedly before the dukes. They started speaking.

Dynaheir picked her way over to them, dusting violet skirts free of ash and dust. Imoen was standing just beyond the knight, looking shaken. Her eyes fell on the Elven mage.

"What are you doing here?" Evelyn asked quietly. She didn't look at any of them.

"You did not think I would just let you try your luck in here _alone_ …?" Jaheira shook her head slowly.

A brief flash of memory. Duke Eltan hobbling past. And a bitter grin twisted her lips. She could guess just how they had gotten in. It melted back into a wretched grimace.

"Some good it did."

Her eyes found the dead Elf again. The last thing he had said to her had been her name, nothing more. There was something there on the floor. She reached down to pick it up.

When she came back up, she could see Kivan staring hard away toward what was left of the Flaming Fist and the dukes. She slipped blue steel slowly into sheath, slinging it over one shoulder. It resisted gleaming.

"Not you," she uttered softly.

Those brown eyes were closed, that handsome face strangely peaceful. Hers started to twist again, water burning hot at the backs of her eyes. She stiffened, and fought it back. She almost lost. Almost.

Eventually, she turned away.

Imoen had her coat, and her weapons. She slipped into the one, taking the others in numb, sticky fingers and fastening what she could about the dress. There was nothing to do about the skirts just then, though they were divided so she could move. The bloodstains flowed into pink hem almost as if they were a part of it.

As she trudged over to the Grand Dukes in her beaten slippers, Belt and Eltan turned to meet them. Their faces were grim. But Aaron Belt's voice was thankful nonetheless.

"It was luck that such brave souls as yourselves intervened on our behalf," he told them. "You have our eternal gratitude."

Eltan only grunted.

"Liia is dead," he growled. "Sarevok has escaped," and snapped. "And no few of the wealthiest citizens of our city have been butchered here tonight." He shook his head, scowling. His face was drawn and milk-white. "If he does not die tonight, there very well might be an uprising."

"I should have seen it from the beginning," Belt muttered. Eltan spared him a glance.

"Yes, you should have." He narrowed his eyes. "We _all_ should have."

Eltan glanced about toward the room, and grimaced.

"The people will not know or understand what has happened here," he continued, low. "If Sarevok Anchev manages to rally them before we can bring order back to the city, he could easily bring them to believe anything. The chaos in the streets will be easy to sow once word reaches them of tonight."

"We have to call an audience," the other man broke in. "We have to warn what is left of the nobles to mobilize."

"What we _need_," Eltan shot back, "is to delay a panic as long as possible. Regroup the Fist and enact martial law before this has _time_ to escalate."

"We couldn't possibly hold the whole city." It was Captain Grayne who broke in then. The two dukes turned to him. "Most of the active officers were here tonight, and a good many men killed alongside them."

"The reserves?" Belt asked.

"Would take too long to call up," Eltan answered for him, grinding his teeth. "Whatever men we could put in the streets would fall into disarray just as quickly as a mob at the slightest push."

Grayne merely nodded his head, grimly.

"Even in defeat, he will have his victory then," Eltan grumbled. "We may have taken the field, but he will have the war. And Dosan has gone with him."

It was quiet for a moment. Then Belt abruptly twisted back about, and hurled his blade hissing away. He shouted an oath. Eltan ignored him, slipping down to one knee. He looked so very tired.

It was silent.

"Where is he?"

It was Evelyn who asked. She couldn't keep her voice from shaking then. Eltan glanced up at her. He grunted. Then he looked to Belt, the man still standing with his back to them.

"He has been teleported away." The man's head drooped down, his voice acrid, almost chiding. "The man has been a step ahead of us and more this entire time."

The Grand Duke laughed, low and bitter, to himself.

"Where?" she pressed. Her numb hands were pale and trembling beneath the blood. She couldn't feel them. She could barely feel anything.

Eltan joined her in pushing the other duke with their eyes. After a moment, Belt turned slightly back towards them.

"I could divine the location," he offered simply enough. He cracked his jaw. "But we have neither the manpower nor the resources to track him down just now – not so soon. And he will have fled somewhere safe, undoubtedly well fortified."

Eltan bobbed his head. "The man did not earn such preference for coronation without his own power base from which to draw. I have seen the company he keeps. If ever there was a duke to lead us into a war, it was that man, his hounds, and their armory."

Belt shook his head, muttering on to himself. She pressed again.

"Tell me," she said. She looked from one duke to the other, tears and blood staining her cheeks. Captain Grayne was studying her with that one eye. Her face was smooth. "I will go."

Belt finally stopped, and looked sharply at her. A faint scowl flecked his lips.

"It would be suicide," he told her slowly, all but growling. "Just who are all of you, anyways?" he demanded of a sudden. "How did you get in here at all?"

"I helped them," Eltan grunted over him. Grayne canted his head toward Evelyn.

"This one, at least," the captain said, "is a convicted murderer. And those others escaped arrest. The Commander wanted them all hanged."

"Well we certainly know where Dosan's loyalties lie now," Belt scoffed.

"They will be the same as the whole damned city's by morning if we do not do something," Eltan snapped at them both. "They have been working for me – and Scar, before he was murdered – for some time now. I sent them to Candlekeep to deal with the Iron Throne."

Grayne's eye bugged out at that. Belt narrowed his back at the man kneeling on his sword. Eltan only stared impatiently at both of them. Every breath seemed to sap more of his little strength.

"It is … unfortunate … that I did not realize just who the true threat to the city was until too late."

Belt still didn't look at all pleased. Grayne seemed doubtful, but kept his mouth shut before the dukes. Eltan ignored them both.

"We will have to risk it," he said.

He waited. So did Evelyn. She could feel Jaheira's eyes on her from one side. She knew what she would have said. She didn't care. Not anymore. The moonblade felt hot in its sheath at her side.

Finally, Belt seemed to relent.

The man sagged, and sighed. Then he straightened once more.

"Very well," he said simply.

"Follow me."

* * *

Captain Grayne knelt down swiftly and put his hand to the woman's neck. The rest of them instantly spread out.

Evelyn glanced quickly around, but could see little in that cramped space in the gloom. There was light, dim, glowing above an old, rotting wooden stairwell behind. A cracked stone tunnel stretched out into darkness before.

The Flaming Fist had hurriedly taken up positions all along front and behind, blades already loose and bared. Evelyn stepped up beside the captain, hands clutching both sheaths hanging at her hips.

"Lieutenant Immerson?" he abruptly grunted low without looking back over his shoulder.

"Nothing, sir."

A man shook his head.

"Find out where we are then."

"Aye, sir."

A moment later, that other man had pulled up two more and all three disappeared quickly up those steps behind. Grayne pulled his hand back from that woman. She had been lying there before them on the cold stone, waiting, as soon as they had set foot in solid reality once more.

"This one's still alive," the captain said aloud. Then he wiped his hands free of blood. "But not for long."

Lieutenant Immerson came hurrying instantly back into sight, hopping down the steps.

"We're in the … the _Thieves'_ Guild, sir," he said, coming up behind. "I think."

"You think?" the one-eyed captain demanded, glancing back. The lieutenant only nodded his head.

"There are more bodies upstairs. Someone had their way with this place after the Commander got through with it."

"The thieves' guild?" Jaheira uttered dubiously. She looked to the captain on the floor. "Why would he come here?"

Grayne just frowned, turning back.

"The catacombs," he grumbled simply.

"The perfect place for an ambush," that lieutenant offered behind. Grayne nodded.

"Send Corporal Brecht and a team ahead," he told the other. "Have them pick up the trail."

Immerson canted his head. Then he hurried ahead past toward those others. Grayne didn't watch him go.

Belt had sent them on through to that place, folding reality with his prayers, after the location to which he had tracked Sarevok's mage. Whoever it was had spirited them away from the upper chambers of the Ducal Palace, but they had hardly known just to where. It was a risk, but no more so than following their trail at all.

Eltan had given them all the Fist he could that remained at the palace, patching together what was left of Immerson's dead command from the party and putting Grayne in charge. They had a good dozen men or so. It was all that could be spared.

But Sarevok was nowhere in sight. He was close. The raven-haired woman could feel it. But not close enough.

Grayne stood. The lieutenant had already sent a few of the Fist on their way deeper into that place, lighting a torch against the black before they hurried off. Jaheira broke in at his side.

"Why would he come here?" she demanded. "Not merely to lay an ambush." The druid frowned at the captain. "He could not be sure that we would even give chase, and time is as important to him as it is to your dukes."

The one-eyed man shook his head. "The catacombs are a crumbling maze beneath this part of the city. They were broken into no few times while tunneling the sewers. Ruins left over from some time ago, I don't know when." He glanced curiously up at those stone walls. "They just built the city right on over them," he uttered at the last.

"Who knows what the thieves have been doing with them," Immerson mused at his side. Grayne nodded slightly.

"Yes …"

"He knows," Evelyn broke in quietly, though. The other three looked to her, but she was staring ahead down the passage into nothing. "He knows I'm coming for him."

The two officers turned away just as quickly. Jaheira only gave her a doubtful look.

It didn't take much longer for that corporal and his men to come back. Brecht left the other two and strode swiftly up to the captain. He saluted.

"Found it, sir – two sets of footprints. They didn't bother hiding their trail at all."

Grayne hardly seemed pleased at that, his lips drawn tight. Still, he canted his head smartly toward the other.

"Let's move then. Quickly, before they get wherever it is they are going."

"I should warn you, sir," Brecht broke in again quickly, though, before the other man could move. "We found another trail joining the first – larger – from one of the other tunnels beyond. They're both heading the same way."

The captain looked away for a moment, face hard and set. Then, he glanced back. "We risk it."

He started forward.

"Brecht, take Detrich and Borne and run far point. Immerson, with Revan, Garret, and Haskel behind," Grayne tallied off in a low rumble as he passed. "The rest of you, you're with me. Spread out and move."

"What about her?"

The captain twisted briefly back about toward the knight. He stood there stiffly with a hand gesturing down toward the woman on the floor. The one-eyed man didn't even slow.

"As good as dead," he grunted. "Leave her."

The knight didn't argue. A moment later, he fell in behind.

Ajantis had his sword back. He had no armor, just that fine tunic, but someone had remembered his shield at least. Evelyn was hardly any better off in her rumpled coat over fine dress and skirts. But she had what she needed. The ashwood staff felt good and light in her hands. Xan's moonblade hung heavy down at her side.

They had all come – all of them. And as they fell in behind the captain and his men, Evelyn couldn't help glancing toward the giant Rashemi as he lumbered along. He had a ragged, blood-stained tunic on over what must have been a mass of crimson-soaked bandages across his chest and stomach. They had managed to save him. But he shouldn't have been there. Dynaheir kept pace with a gentle, steadying hand at his side. He hadn't allowed himself to be left behind when they took Eltan and broke into the palace. That massive blade hung low in his hands, and his teeth were bared. Whether it was in anger or pain, however, she couldn't know.

"He will be dead by morning."

Evelyn glanced back. Kivan was striding along at her elbow. He had followed her eyes to the Rashemi.

She only nodded her head. What he didn't realize … was that, by then, all of them would be.

After a moment, she looked back at him. She met his eyes, briefly.

Maybe he did.

She nodded her head again.

The tunnels were still. Their boots on stone stabbed painfully into the dark. A few of the Fist had torches. More bobbed ahead and behind, vanishing every so often as they took a turn, or ducked beneath some crumbling ceiling, or the passage dipped low. They kept up with the trail, winding and twisting around until Evelyn was sure they must have doubled back at some point. More than once. The captain said nothing, though.

A gloved hand slipped down and took hers, firmly. She blinked up at the Elf in surprise.

"Whatever happens," he told her, quietly. "It ends her tonight. With us."

Those hard eyes pressed on hers, grim and with … something else. Almost satisfied. It was the end at last. She didn't say anything. She just squeezed right back.

It was an unspoken promise. Neither needed any words. They had been through so much together. And they had both changed in that short time. But they still had that one task left to complete, the one that had driven them both beyond everything else from the very beginning. Two monsters to slay two others. Then it would be over. That was their only purpose left. Somehow, from the beginning, she was sure that was just how it should have been.

And then she saw something. Just as they were skirting past a maw of cracked and crumbling passages to one side. Motion caught in the corner of her eyes, and her head snapped toward it. But they had already moved past.

For a few moments, she kept her eyes darting to and fro amongst those tunnels flitting away into darkness to either side of them. They began to play tricks on her quickly enough. They had burrowed into the very bowels of the world. And she could feel the shadows growing restless about those beacons of light. Her skin started to crawl.

Imoen suddenly gasped, and stopped. The one-eyed captain threw her his one eye, along with everyone else. She abruptly realized they were staring at her after a moment. She shrugged uncomfortably.

"I thought I saw something."

She didn't sound too sure, though, and Grayne kept going.

"Hallek," he abruptly growled after a moment. A man twisted toward him.

"Captain?"

"Fall back to Immerson," Grayne gestured curtly with his head. "Quietly. And tell him to close ranks."

The man nodded, and fell away to one side of the tunnel. They flowed past him, and he dropped back out of sight. Evelyn glanced back over her shoulder a few times to the torchlight bobbing along some distance behind them.

Ajantis slid his blade free. It echoed softly in the gloom. She gave him a look, but his face was hard and set. She didn't say anything. The heavy stillness made every sound so heavy that her own voice seemed impossibly far away.

They kept on.

It wasn't too long before the captain was growling again in his throat, though. He had cast no few sharp glances back toward that speck of light behind that had gotten no closer. Eventually, he just opened his mouth.

"What the bloody hell is taking so long?"

Now no few of them were glancing back, curious and seeming a little unsettled. But someone else abruptly broke the silence.

"Captain."

"What?"

Grayne snapped as he came back around. One of the soldiers at the fore was pointing ahead. The rest came slowly to a halt.

"Corporal Brecht."

Evelyn stared ahead. That light had faded.

"He's probably got himself around a corner," the one-eyed man grunted irritably. "Weapons free," he uttered low at them just the same. "Grenz, Paldin. Find Brecht and tell him to hold. The rest of you, ahead slow."

Two men hurried on ahead, one bobbing a torch in his hands. Grayne cast a few more impatient looks back over his shoulder to Immerson following behind. He scratched at the ripped cloth beneath his knife wound from the palace. Their pace slowed even more.

The two Fist didn't get far, though, before they stopped. That light hovered just a little ways beyond. And it didn't take long to catch them up. Soon enough, the two circles of light merged once more.

"What is it?" Grayne demanded instantly, his voice still low. "Did you find them?"

Those two other men shared a look. They hesitated. One finally opened his mouth.

"We," the man frowned. His mouth hung open for a moment.

"Sir … we're not sure."

Grayne hammered his one eye into them. Then he followed there's as they drifted down to stone. The rest of the others went with them.

The floor was covered in blood.

"Gods!" someone snapped. Another blanched. Everyone else took a hasty step back.

Someone retched before they could help it. No few smothered their faces in their mailed sleeves, as if it should reek of death. It didn't. It was still too fresh. But there was far too much black and crimson for any one person, it seemed, lying pooled there on the floor.

The walls had been splattered too. They realized that quickly enough. Grayne reached down and picked up what looked like a bloody glove. But there was more than one turning aside to sick up then. The captain turned it over. It was a hand.

Something had ripped the larger half of a man's arm off at the elbow. Vicious tear marks were visible there, even in the low light. Grayne studied it for a moment, face hard and smooth.

"Captain!" a man hissed.

Grayne tossed the limb aside, and looked up. One of the Fist was pointing. There along the wall, the blood was trailing as if something had been dragged against it. It led up the side of the tunnel, across, and back down. Then it sped away down one of those broken corridors. It was swallowed in the dark.

The captain stood, slowly. No one else moved. They had blades clutched in death grips and shaking. Only their breathing sounded in the stillness.

"How did we not hear it?" someone demanded.

"Every man lights a torch," Grayne snapped. "Spread out. Weapons at the ready."

He cast an eye behind. Immerson's progress was steady, but still trailing. His jaw cracked.

"Move."

They picked up the trail again ahead, once the blood had faded away. They knew it now by the only place where the dust had been disturbed in those passages. They moved even slower, and that speck of light behind began to catch up.

Someone screamed – deep in the tunnels. A man. They all twisted about instantly, eyes searching the dark. And they came to a halt. For long moments, there was nothing. Just the echo. Grayne came back around.

"Where's Farragut?" he demanded instantly, eye popping wide and angry. His men looked to the other side of the tunnel – where no one was standing just then. Not one of them said anything.

"Keep your damned eyes open!" the captain snapped at them, twisting about. He didn't start away again, though. Instead he looked back behind.

Evelyn glanced toward Jaheira. The woman was sharing a long, silent look with her husband. Imoen stood just beyond, eyes darting wildly about. Ajantis' face had not changed.

"What is it?" she whispered at the druid. The other woman didn't look at her, though, just shook her head.

"Stay close."

That light behind grew nearer for a time. Then it stopped. It stood still. And, after a few long, impatient moments … it flickered there in the deep.

"Fall back. We regr–"

That light went out. No sooner had the words fallen free from the captain's lips then a howl echoed to them down through the passage.

"Ahead." The captain twisted back around. "Double time. Move, move, _move_!"

No one objected. They were jogging forward an instant later, torches bouncing and barely keeping that trail.

"Fan out!" he barked, not bothering to keep his voice low anymore. "Eyes open!" His own was flashing warily about. What remained of his men spread out along the corridor, a convoy of burning light.

Evelyn kept her eyes on the trail beneath. Kivan unslung the bow from his shoulder even as he ran, fleet-footed and already nocking an arrow. Imoen pressed in at her other side. Gaping black holes like maws yawned wide and flashed along to either side as they flew away behind.

It lasted a minute or so. Maybe less. Then they were rounding a bend – the trail cut sharply left – and one of the Fist suddenly vanished. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, crying out into the night. It cut off abruptly, and close.

A few moments later, another went. The man right in front of Evelyn was snapped up by the black and howled away. His torch clattered to the floor. She leapt through where he had been, not even missing a step. But Grayne suddenly wheeled about, bringing them to a halt.

There was an opening behind them. She paused at that hole in the crumbling stone wall. Footsteps in the dust led down and away. The few Fist left had quickly drawn ranks behind.

Jaheira was at her side, looking down and ahead. So was Khalid. Her eyes met the older woman's.

The tunnel grew silent. Only Grayne and three of his men stood there now, drawn up in formation. Ajantis stood to one side, Dynaheir and Minsc the other. Imoen was backing up behind. The moonblade pulsed warm and insistent against her thigh.

They waited.

Silence.

It didn't last too long.

Boots scuffed along stone. Everyone tensed, each of the Fist crouching low. Khalid was still facing the passage behind. He glanced briefly back about.

Something flung itself out of the dark. Before Captain Grayne or any of his men could move, though, it went down. It skidded out along stone.

The captain's eye flashed wide. "Immerson!" he growled. The lieutenant had stumbled to his knees out into the light. At the sound of Grayne's voice, he hauled himself back up and forward.

"What happened?" the one-eyed man demanded instantly. The other staggered ahead. "How many are there? Did you see?"

The lieutenant didn't answer him, though. He just kept pushing forward, even as his legs began to buckle underneath him once more. He stumbled, faltered, eyes fixed straight ahead. His body fell slowly but surely to the ground. He reached their lines in a bundle of flailing limbs, and went face down into the dust.

It was then that they could see the blood trailing down his back beneath his armor. There was a hole just to one side of his neck. It looked like nothing so much as a chunk had been bitten right out of him. And he just lay there, panting.

"Hells …"

One of the soldiers grunted, and then glanced down. Something dark was sticking out of his chest. He blinked, reaching up a hand toward it.

Something else followed. A shadow pushed forward into the light. That one man glanced back up, and he was hurtling over and down to stone. The man beside him went too. Grayne barely more than turned before being slammed hard on the chest and twisting over backwards. He crashed down onto his stomach.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. In that blink of the eye, the torches were abruptly down on the ground, spluttering. Dark thrust forward vengefully to take its place.

Kivan was the only one that moved. An arrow hissed free into the shadow. Evelyn heard it strike – a wet, fleshy sound. She heard the last standing Flaming Fist cry out – a flash of mail and steel – and then it died abruptly. Chain links rattled hard against stone wall several paces away.

Khalid had leapt past her. Jaheira too. Evelyn had a hand snatching out for Imoen. She all but threw her best friend away behind. Kivan fired again.

Light burst into the darkness. Dynaheir had a handful of fire blazing over her head. All at once the corridor lit up like the sun, and everyone came screeching to a halt. Evelyn shielded her eyes with an arm. She blinked beneath her sleeve.

Something loomed in between them. Slim bones dangling rotting flesh recoiled of a sudden at the light. Then its limbs twitched abruptly, violently. Leering skull fixed on Rashemi witch.

Dynaheir took a step back, wide-eyed, in spite of herself. Evelyn took a few. And Imoen was right with her. For a moment, even Kivan's hands froze.

All at once, Ajantis wheeled in with a fierce cry, blade slicing hard along the thing's stomach. Flesh split open, and something burst free, trailing black ooze down onto stone. The thing hissed, jaw gaping impossibly wide and bearing down on the knight as if it meant to swallow him whole. There was a flash of motion. Ajantis swept his shield up.

Two black trails of viscera snapped toward the knight from burst stomach and gaping maw both. They struck steel, and the knight bowled back over.

"B-BACK!" Khalid screamed at them, even as he leapt at the thing from behind. One long bony limb twisted about toward him, impossibly fast. It took the man instantly off his feet.

Jaheira was next, going ahead and in, staff sweeping low. The thing should have toppled. Evelyn could almost hear bone snap. But it didn't. Instead, Jaheira did. One flesh-ridden fist caught her before she could leap back, even faster than her. She soared away into the wall.

Kivan sent another arrow into it. It stuck. Two hollow sockets wheeled about, fixing on him. That trail of slime dangling from mouth and ribs had not followed the knight to the floor. Instead, now it lifted up, weaving about like two snakeheads. There were teeth snapping at the ends. Before the ranger could loose again, they flashed toward him.

Kivan ducked low. Those things flew past him, toward her an Imoen. The pink-haired woman sucked in a sharp breath before pulling Evelyn down. Teeth snapped into stone just overhead.

Those things retracted, whipping back. The shambling flesh thing did too. It twitched abruptly – violently. Its whole bony body erupted in a fierce spasm. Then that skull twisted aside.

Dynaheir still stood there, eyes wide and fixed with flames dancing above her head. Minsc crouched down before her, teeth bared but barely seeming to keep his feet. The thing's skull reared back, jaw dropping impossibly low.

Then Grayne surged up from the floor beneath, blade sweeping up and through the things rotting body. That terrible wet sound of flesh ripping was back, and the captain gained his feet. "_Run_!" he barked over his shoulder before rounding back on the beast. One bony, clawed hand was waiting for him. He lifted into the air, and pitched away into stone once more.

Kivan was twisting back about and toward them. Before she knew just what had happened, the ranger had barreled into her and Imoen as they gained their feet, taking them back down. All three of them tumbled back over and through that hole behind into blackness.

Something snapped after them.

There were steps beneath her. Evelyn felt them jab into her back. All three of them rolled over in a tangle, wrenched further down. She briefly heard a scream – a roar. Fire lit the portal behind out of the corner of her eye. Then the whole place shook. There was a loud, shrieking, gurgling bellow. Footsteps. The stairs finally stopped.

Evelyn tumbled over and along for a few more jabbing moments as the floor leveled out. Then she was flat on her face and twisted at an odd angle. Her lungs were filled with dust and dry heaving on stone. Still, she forced her eyes to twist up and back around.

Flames crept along the sides of the passage. It shook. Stones started to break free from above. Someone flashed through the blaze, took a blow, and went down.

Dust rained down overhead. Stone followed. Evelyn threw her arms over her head, and they came crashing down. She couldn't have breathed to scream if she had wanted too. It only took a few moments. And then the tunnel had fallen apart.

The light died, and everything else went still.


	84. Chapter 7 The Bowels

_**The Bowels**_

"Here."

The ranger's voice broke through the blackness. And, a moment later, so did his hands. They pulled free stone and rubble, and Evelyn came gasping and coughing, staff first, back up.

He steadied her, and so did Imoen. But she broke free. The tunnel was black but for the smoldering embers of light.

The whole thing had caved in behind. There was a pile of shattered rock and debris spreading out from that burning silhouette where the passage had been. It was gone.

"Jaheira? Khalid?" she managed, gagging on dust as she rounded back on the ranger and her best friend.

"Alive," someone broke in abruptly, though, and she could hear stone rattling aside. "For now." The older woman coughed.

A light glowed in the darkness. Dynaheir appeared beneath it, holding it delicately between her hands. Blood trickled down the side of her face from atop her skull. She looked to one side, and a whole row of stones seemed to shift. The giant Rashemi pulled his battered, bloody body out from it.

The raven-haired woman looked around once more. She almost missed the knight. It took him some time to dig himself out. The ruined passage had all but fallen on top of him.

"Grayne?" she demanded. But it was Kivan who answered.

"Dead," he grunted, then pulled himself up. "He knew he was, as soon as he recognized it. We all were."

She stared hard toward the collapsed stone. The flames had died and there was no sound. She climbed back to her feet.

"What was it?" Imoen asked. Kivan didn't answer. Instead, he turned away. Evelyn did too. It didn't matter.

"A Mohrg," Jaheira said, pulling herself up toward them. "And there is no knowing just how many more abominations might have been lurking in that tomb." She shook free some lingering pain in her skull and straightened. "He should not have broken us up, and moved so slowly."

"He was afraid of an ambush," the knight muttered from one side as he pushed to joined them. The druid only scowled.

"He certainly found one."

Ajantis opened his mouth, but Kivan beat him to it.

"There is nothing for it now." He stood staring ahead along the uneven passage. "We go on."

Evelyn took one look back – to the ton of jagged stones that had crushed the stairs behind beneath them. They were in some deeper place now. Kivan was right. There was no turning back. The trail still marched on ahead.

"Dynaheir."

The woman didn't need any word. She moved up swiftly, casting that light. Minsc hung at her side, hunched over. No few of the stitching beneath his broken, bloodied tunic had popped, and the blood flowed from his chest. Still, he dragged that massive blade along behind him. But there was nothing for it now.

They started forward.

It was quiet, but Evelyn hurried. The ranger caught her up swiftly, and Dynaheir let that beacon cut a swath through the darkness before. There was no sign of anything else just yet. But the cave-in could have woken the dead. Sarevok was still somewhere down there.

Whatever place they had found themselves buried in now was different, though. The catacombs, with their ancient, carved stone walls, had ended. The coarse and jagged face of a cave stretched on tightly about them. It wound about and away ahead – a tunnel burrowing even deeper down into the earth.

Someone coughed. They hadn't gone far when she heard it. Evelyn came up short, casting back toward the others. Her eyes met Jaheira's, looking forward. She followed them to Kivan's, and then ahead. Dynaheir smothered the light with her hand until it cast only the faintest orange glow.

Kivan crept ahead to a bend in the tunnel. So did Evelyn. In another moment, he was poking his head past to the stretch beyond. He came back, looked at her, and then leapt out, bow in hand.

Evelyn scrambled up and along behind, the ranger picking his way carefully ahead. There was a pinprick of light there. Nothing more. She glanced back, and Dynaheir's light gleamed at the end of the tunnel.

They weren't alone. Someone was standing there opposite them in that narrow passage. No … leaning. Crouching. It was only the one. Kivan had his bow trained and ready.

Evelyn squinted, clutching steel in one hand. She replaced the staff along her back with the other. The man was on the ground, propped up against the wall. They closed on him quickly.

He was sheathed all in robes. There was blood on them. At the sight of those creeping shapes, he looked up. A pipe dangled between his lips. He puffed on it, and then nearly spit it out coughing.

A pair of trembling hands hastily replaced it. He was all alone.

Evelyn straightened as they neared.

"Well, well," the man managed when he caught sight of her of a sudden, voice light, yet strained. The sound almost startled her it came on so fast. "I thought it might be you."

He grinned at her, lips cracking around that pipe. He barely stifled another hacking cough. "Quite the … little family reunion shaping up now, isn't it?"

Kivan was at one side, Jaheira the other. The older woman scowled ahead into the tunnels. There was no one else there, though. Evelyn fixed on that man. There was no surprise for them in his voice.

"Where is he?"

He stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed. He laughed at her. Her voice was cold – harsh. And he laughed at it. Another bout of coughing threatened to tear him apart.

"I knew you would follow," he chided derisively, sucking in a ragged, steadying breath. He almost seemed irritated by that predictability. "But, you two are of the same blood." He pulled on the pipe, eyes glazing over with pain. "You must take the fight to him, lest he strike you down at his leisure. Not that it will matter," he puffed out, and dry-retched.

"You have already beaten him," he mumbled on. "His plans are in ruins, and his allies are fleeing in droves. Such … _glorious_ goals they were …" He shook his head, a faraway look in his eyes. "None understood the true desire behind them. None but _me_ … that is …"

The man was bleeding out his life through a hole in his gut, dark crimson staining his robes black in the dim light. He took another drag on that pipe. Evelyn took another step forward, and crouched down before him.

"Who are you?"

She looked him square in the eyes. And he laughed in her face.

"Me?" he hacked, still laughing. "I was Sarevok's mentor!" He proclaimed it eagerly, as if her demand were offensive. "I tutored him in the _blackest_ of rituals!"

His head twisted from side to side, lips curling.

"If he were to succeed there was no doubt that I would be amongst the dead," he continued more quietly. "But my name – my _name – _will live on in his wake!"

A feverish gleam glowed brightly in those dying eyes. It almost seemed unearthly.

"There are things beyond death if you die in the right fashion …" He thrust a weak hand haphazardly after her. His face crinkled, nearly losing the pipe. "And how could there _not_ be a place in history for the architect who _shaped_ the actions of the ascending _Lord _of _Murder_?"

All at once, he broke down into a fit of coughing. Blood flecked his tongue, his lips – his hands. It lasted for a long while. Evelyn only stared on at him, eyes glistening in the low light.

"You," he spluttered, "_you_ would not understand." That light had all but faded from his eyes. It had not gone, though. "You who were _born_ to affect the Realms." He glanced back up at her. "The rest of us … we must … we must _carve_ our own place … by whatever means necessary!"

She lowered herself down to her knees before him. Her eyes never left his.

"Where is he?" she asked again, as softly as she could. The other only grunted.

"He is not intent on hiding, if that is what you think," he told her bitterly. "You have stripped him of any pretense." The pipe came back up in unsteady fingers. His head shook right along with them. "There is no longer any … _point_ in him maintaining his respectable veneer."

The stem of the pipe touched trembling lips. They sucked in as if it were his life's blood.

"He knows that you will come to confront him. It is to his advantage to choose the battleground." He puffed, and wheezed. "There is an altar in the Undercity. It was to be where the ritual would take place." Those lips somehow still managed to curl up scornfully at her. "If you do not go to him," he sneered, "he will hunt you down."

She watched unblinkingly. He laughed at her. Eventually, he settled for another drag on that pipe.

"He wished me to dispatch the Grand Dukes," he smiled ruefully up at her of a sudden, "rather than effect his escape as I did. He would not consider failing as a probability … a common weakness in those that would be gods."

He laughed at that. Something about it struck him as clever. After a time, he fixed on her again.

He coughed. "He left me here for my _failure_. He will come," he canted his head, "when he realizes his first strike did not kill."

He pulled on the pipe. He was shaking, shivering all over. He didn't look at her.

Her jaw trembled ever so slightly. But it didn't touch her voice.

"Don't worry," she said, gently. She shoved Fuller's dagger into his stomach, burying it swiftly to the hilt. He let out a strangled, piercing cry at the sharp motion. Her mouth was at his ear. "I found you first."

His face twisted violently. The pipe fell free from his lips. He sucked in great, rapid breaths, hands clutching at her arms. She held fast.

He convulsed a few times more. It was weaker each time. She kept her eyes on the tunnel wall. Eventually, it stopped.

She cleaned off the dagger and stood. Jaheira was watching her. Imoen stared numbly down at the dead man. She turned away from both of them.

"Hurry."

There was only one place he could have gone. Deeper into that pit.

Kivan had already started moving. Dynaheir's light trailed behind. It was still dark. Evelyn's shadow flickered ahead, broad and blanketing ancient stone. The ranger flitted in and out of it like a ghost, eyes cast back briefly toward her every so often. Her pace was swift – his even swifter. Somehow, the Rashemi witch just kept them from being swallowed into the dark.

That run didn't last long, though. All at once, Kivan drew up short.

"What is it?" Jaheira demanded quietly from behind. She pressed up between him and her. Evelyn looked to the ranger.

"Careful," he warned. Then he started up again without another word. Jaheira gave her a pointed look. But Evelyn was already pushing on.

She realized instantly what the ranger had meant, though. All at once, she could feel the walls fall away around them. The ceiling receded, gaping wide with empty air. Where claustrophobic rock had squeezed tight there was suddenly nothing. She couldn't see it – the dark was too deep. But she could feel the change in the air. It didn't threaten to choke her quite so much.

There was something else too. She noticed it as they moved, slowing. Large, black shapes loomed to either side, wild and jagged and bluff. Her hand drifted out. Stone. Her fingers brushed it as she passed. Dust and flat. It was some kind of wall. Nature had not made it there.

"Where are we?" she heard Imoen whisper.

No one answered. Minsc's belabored grunts as he pushed on filled the silence. The dead man had said something about a city. A ritual. She wondered if they could hold one there underground.

There was the sound of water somewhere. Dripping. Churning. Stone crumbling. The light had begun to dim in Dynaheir's hands, or seemed to, against the yawning black. Evelyn almost didn't realize Kivan had stopped before she nearly tripped over him.

He was bending over in the dirt.

"Kill the light," he snapped back over his shoulder.

Dynaheir let it fade quickly into nothingness. Evelyn only just caught sight of his hand tracing above footprints in the dust before everything went black.

"They're here."

It took her eyes some time to adjust, but it was not so long. A dim light flickered somewhere ahead. She couldn't have seen it with that one at her back before.

"How m-many?"

Khalid knelt down beside the ranger. She could just make out the shape of them in the dark. They both stood. Kivan said nothing, just started forward in a crouch.

"Stay close and keep quiet," Jaheira warned. She followed in her husband's footsteps ahead. Evelyn felt someone take her hand. She wasn't sure who. She didn't care. She pulled them along after.

Eight dark shapes crept quickly forward, half-bent and crooked tricks of the dead light. They slinked ahead along a bleak and beaten landscape of dusty, broken stone. There was so little sound. The air was dead. Some gravel crunched underfoot. Even Minsc managed to keep quiet, stifling his wounds. She heard sliding steel behind her.

"Hold."

Heavy footsteps tromped along before. They slowed and came to a stop.

Evelyn caught hold of a crumbling outcropping of broken bricks, peeking out. The dim light had grown stronger. Her squinting eyes could just make out Jaheira, Khalid, and Kivan crouched down across from her, swallowed in the rubble. A rumpled path rumbled along between them ahead.

They weren't alone. Six sets of boots stood there in the middle of the dusty old path. Torchlight crackled dully ahead of them against a structure looming to one side, sleekly carved against the rock. They were just close enough to hear.

"Well … a rather _strange_ place to meet living members of the sunlit realms. Tell me – old friend … just what do you think you are doing?"

She glanced back. It was the knight grasping her hand. His sword was in the other. She couldn't read his face in the dark. She didn't have to. She pushed up and ahead, the slight crunch of fleet footsteps sounding to one side as Jaheira and Khalid did the same. They crept forward.

"You made a mistake in leaving Sembia, Rahvin," an all too familiar voice answered the first back. "You should know better than to be the loyal hound of back-stabbing, coin-swindling _merchants_ …"

They reached the next outcropping of crumbling stone silhouetted in the gloom. Imoen trailed behind the knight. Kivan led on before Jaheira and Khalid on the opposite side. She couldn't see Minsc or Dynaheir.

"Better that than an ambitious fool. Crazed murderers only trade in one currency, old friend. _Death_."

The other laughed, deep and rich. "You know so very, _very_ little, Rahvin. Our master is no simple _murderer_."

He kept on laughing, softly.

There were six of them – their leader, Rahvin, standing out in scuffed plated mail, a sword hanging at his hip. A woman stood next to him in a dark, leather coat, an older man leaning forward intently on a walking staff at his other side. Two more of them stood just apart, one with a cradled bow on their far flank. Behind, a giant figure towered over them half again as tall as the rest. Those yellow, razored teeth glinted in a toothy grin in the dark. An Ogre.

The other five she knew. Her luck was not so good that they might have finally been dead. She had left them back in that burning husk of a building as it fell down around their ears. But it had hardly been enough.

"Did he _really_ think he could kill three members of the high council and escape the Throne's vengeance?"

"Our master can do what he wishes! There are none more powerful than Sarevok!"

Khalid drew a scimitar from beside him. Ajantis already had his blade ready behind.

"Well, old friend," Rahvin continued calmly, softly. "_You_ … are not Sarevok."

Zhalimar Cloudwulfe cracked a vicious grin at the other man. He did not move. They stood there, both men and their companions facing each other across a handful of dusty old rock. An old temple stood behind them, aglow with the flickering flames of the torches along its length. Evelyn blinked up at that.

It was silent. Neither man moved. She could just make out Kivan drawing an arrow soundlessly back.

"So what will it be, Rahvin?" Zhalimar burst out impatiently, that grin still on his face. "You cannot step within. Our master will not see you! Run along back to _Sembia_ …"

Jaheira caught her eye. Evelyn returned the look.

Rahvin didn't answer him. He just stood there grimly staring. Then he slid free his sword.

The older woman motioned firmly with her hands so that they could be seen. Evelyn watched. Then she nodded her head.

Imoen slipped a knife out from inside her coat.

The sixth man with Rahvin stood with his back to them some paces ahead. He had that bow in his hands. An arrow creaked slowly up against the string.

Evelyn stood. Fuller's dagger danced lightly in one hand.

Jaheira stood with her. They both crept forward as one.

"I gave you fair warning," Zhalimar continued softly, "_old_ friend …"

It was quiet. The creak of leather and indecision filled it. For a moment, no one else moved.

Then boot scuffed stone. It cried out sharply in that sudden silence.

Evelyn wheeled about instantly, freezing where she stood. The knight was there. He had stood with her.

Her eyes flashed wide. He had frozen too.

She snapped back around .That man with the bow was staring her in the face.

"_Evelyn_!" Ajantis hissed.

An arrow had already burst free. Another leapt forward to meet it. It took the bowman in the chest, digging into plate. The other hurtled into Evelyn's head.

The knight tackled her. The thing screamed overhead. Kivan already had his next arrow drawn. She hit the ground and …

And the space behind them suddenly exploded.

The gloom went up in a blaze of blinding, earth-churning light. Stone burst free everywhere. Khalid and Jaheira vanished. So did Kivan. Night turned to day, and Evelyn was wrenched over into the air and forward in a cloud of dust and fire.

Rahvin's head snapped toward the blaze, even as the ground shook with the blast. "AMBUSH!" he shouted, just in time for a knife to strike chest and take him off his feet.

Zhalimar and his men were moving. So were Rahvin's. That man who had thrown the dagger – Alai – hefted a war hammer in his other hand. The Ogre launched a club at him, knocking him aside. The old man had sprung up from his staff and sent a flashing symbol of light flinging ahead. Aasim sent one of his own to meet it. The space between them burst, and both tumbled back and over.

The woman who had been standing beside Rahvin hurled some light of her own and Diyab took it in the arm he had lifted to strike her, staggering back. Gardush's long, curving blade swept in instead. The Ogre knocked him aside too, plated body twisting away as the beast plowed right through.

Coughing, Evelyn clawed her way over onto her stomach. Her hand fell on scorching heat and she snapped it back with a strangled cry. A smoking knight lay before her, flames clawing at fine clothes. She rolled her hand up into the coat sleeve and swatted at them hurriedly until they began to die. The man was still breathing. She didn't waste any more time before clawing her way unsteadily back up to her feet.

The bowman had snapped Kivan's arrow in his hand. At the sight of her, he tossed it down, and drew his bow once more.

She had lost Fuller's dagger. She found it soon enough. Clumsy fingers snatched steel up hurriedly from the dirt and threw it at him.

The man took it in the thigh, losing his arrow. He stumbled away with a curse. She just barely managed to keep herself upright.

That Ogre had burst through their lines. Zhalimar met him before the looming doors of the temple behind, man-sized, hafted blade high. As the beast's mighty fist came slamming down to crush the man, steel swept down and sliced cleanly right through thick, yellow flesh. The Ogre's leg came away beneath the knee and it toppled back.

Rahvin's swordsman took a knife in the wooden buckler from Alai on the ground. Then he was hauling Rahvin back up to his feet. Gardush was back up and leaping for them. That woman thrust a hand forward and sent ribbons of light bursting into his chest and screaming up along the temple walls behind. He flew back again with a loud grunt.

"Take cover!" Rahvin yelled. His men were already falling back and fleeing for the safety of the crumbling stone ruins behind.

Zhalimar had followed through and thrust his steel down through the Ogre's massive chest. As it tensed, roaring aloud, he bellowed above it.

"SCATTER!"

Another arrow came hurtling out of the gloom as he made his way quickly from the temple's front. It struck stone, and swallowed the whole place in a mighty gout of flame. Evelyn threw an arm up in front of her face and fell over.

Voices were crying out all over. She winced there on the ground. She couldn't tell where they were coming from. Another explosion dully rocked the earth. Or maybe it was still the first. She reached a hand up to her forehead, and it came away wet with fresh blood.

Someone shouted. A massive form was looming above her. She struggled back up to her elbows. Before she could, though, that someone had snatched her up.

It was Minsc. The thought came dully to her as the sound of his labored breaths tore belatedly at her ears. He threw her over one shoulder and struggled, wobbling away. He was dragging the limp knight along by the arm through the dirt.

They didn't get very far. Another explosion burst almost lazily close by. Minsc stumbled against the blast, and fell. She rolled over and away. The giant Rashemi did not get up.

Her head was still ringing. She clasped a hand to it, groaning even as she struggled onto her side. Her vision shook. She waited until it steadied. When it finally did, the first thing she saw … was the temple.

The massive steel doors were blown open. A hole had been punched partway through the stone to one side. She fixed on the other one – the dark opening. All at once, she could stand. She pulled her battered body back up to its feet like so much bruised, beaten meat. She pushed one foot leadenly forward. Then the other. She started moving.

Someone shouted her name. She was picking up speed. An arrow hissed past her ear, just missing it. A dull roar sounded then off to one side, shaking stone all around. She stumbled, but kept her feet. A blast of heat slammed into her back.

She collapsed down to her knees, tripping over a severed Ogre's leg. She threw herself instantly back up. Steel was ringing in her ears. She felt lightheaded.

Then her hand reached the steel of the door. She grasped it and held on for all her life. Her body threatened to collapse once more, but she bared her teeth at it. Finally, it relented.

And she pulled herself inside.


	85. Chapter 7 From Out of the Storm

_**From Out of the Storm**_

Evelyn came to a stop, and her breathing finally caught up with her. The blood was still thumping in her ears. When it finally subsided some, she looked up.

Steps fell away from her. They led down into a mausoleum before, walls clawing up into the ceilings swallowed high in shadow above. Looming figures of stone stood silent watch over the grounds below. They had weapons in their hands, massive scythes and blades and axes and daggers. Every one of them was a murderer.

Her eyes burned on those shadowy figures for a moment. Their faces were cruel, twisted, and wicked. They could not have adorned any temple of the sunlit realms. She might have even wondered what terrible god that place had been built for. But she thought she knew.

Her feet carried her down, leadenly. Her eyes fixed ahead. A giant mosaic stretched across the stone floor below, sprawling in every direction. It was a skull. Gaping eyes glared up at her out of dead, empty sockets. She stopped right on top of them.

"Hello, Evelyn."

That soft voice whispered its musical tones at her across the stone. Someone was standing there in front of her. The rest of the room was dark. She could barely see. But she didn't need to.

"I fear this time I am not here to speak," the other said. "You have … you have done what you must, I suppose."

She studied that face in the dark. She recognized it easily enough. It was the same one that had met her back at the Iron Throne before she had broken it. It was the same one that had helped her try to stop Sarevok.

"He knows of my treachery," Tamoko said aloud, as if reading Evelyn's thoughts. "He has forsaken me – left me to die in your path. I must fight to regain his trust, his … attention."

She seemed to struggle with that. Evelyn merely stared at her, silent. A few moments pressed on between them. Then the other stiffened, finding her resolve. She looked the raven-haired woman right in the eyes.

"So I stand before you," she continued stoically, "knowing that if I defeat you, he will continue his plans elsewhere and I shall lose him. And if you defeat me," a ghost of a smile touched her dark lips, "you must go on to kill him.

"He will not yield to either of us," she finished quietly at the last.

The other woman stared up at her, waiting. Silence fell again between them.

Then, Evelyn opened her mouth.

"We'll see."

She started forward, slowly. But the other only stiffened where she stood.

"Move," Evelyn told her, firmly. She came to a halt almost on top of the woman. Tamoko only shook her head quickly.

"No. I cannot. I will not." She raised her honey-colored chin. "Chaos shall be sown in the land, as in the hearts and minds."

"Out of my way," she repeated. "Now."

But the other refused.

"Your path is clear." Her voice trembled with fright and sorrow and courage, all. "I stand before you. Ready yourself for the fires to come."

She pushed forward. She moved to step right over her. Before she could, though, the other woman swept around. Both palms struck Evelyn in chest and stomach. Hard.

She stumbled. The woman glided right back around in front of her. And stilled.

Evelyn stiffened with a grunt. Then she straightened, and started forward again.

"_Move_."

Again the woman struck her, flowing around her seamlessly as she tried to push past. Again she was slipping back in front of her before she could make it another step.

Evelyn bared her teeth at the woman. Before she could move again, though, the other was. She struck hard and fast, straight into the raven-haired woman's face.

She only made it halfway. This time Evelyn caught both those hands with her own. This time she held fast.

A boot slammed up into her chin. She took it. She twisted both of those arms, but the other slipped away. A fist snapped into her stomach. A knee followed it next.

She stumbled aside. An elbow came cracking down on her back. She fell.

The floor smacked her chest, and the air in her lungs hissed out with a grunt. Evelyn did not move after that. The other woman stepped around her. Her boots clicked on the stone floor.

Those eyes were boring down into the raven-haired woman.

"I could have … hoped … for something more."

There was no answer from the floor. Tamoko reached down to pick her back up. Her dark eyes met Evelyn's own. Those ones were almost sad.

Her dark lips were moving. Evelyn didn't listen to whatever she said. It sounded apologetic.

A hand thrust for her throat.

And missed.

She spun. The other seemed to slow. Evelyn rolled around that arm, snatched the woman by the side, pulled her up off her feet, and threw.

Tamoko hurtled aside without a sound. She vanished into the room.

The raven-haired woman didn't even bother to look after her. The other was gone.

All at once, clapping erupted before her.

Evelyn was back on her feet. She stilled. Then she looked up …

… And _he _was standing there.

Sarevok Anchev stood there above the steps that rose up before her. His broad form was blanketed in a dull, sickly glow that came from behind. Or maybe it was him. The sound rang out sharp, and slow, in the gathering gloom.

It continued on for several long moments. It was the only sound for a while. Then it stopped. Eventually, the other opened that grinning mouth.

"You are _indeed_ family," his deep voice reached down toward her. "No other could have lived to oppose me in person." He shook his head slowly. "Of course, it will not matter in the end." She could feel his vicious grin even from there. "Ultimately _I_ will prevail … and a _new_ era will be born unto the realms."

He was sheathed in the black plate of that night so long ago. For a moment, it _was_ that night of so long ago. He was the demon and she the prey. Her blood ran cold and turned to ice. But then it came seething, bursting abruptly free.

"Then come down here and end it."

He laughed. Her voice trembled. But it was with overwhelming satisfaction – not fear. Satisfaction at having lived so long and come so far. Satisfaction at being there to see it end. She suddenly felt as if she would burst from it and be splintered into a million pieces. It didn't matter. As long as they took him too.

"Yes, sister," he answered calmly, resolutely. "Bring your rage to bear." He lifted something in the hand at his side. "And we shall end this in a manner _befitting_ our heritage." He slipped that something down over his face. It was the horned demon's skull from that night. His black eyes stared out at her from beneath its hollow sockets. They flared.

"Face _me_!" he bellowed down at her, stabbing a metal thumb into his chest. "Face the _new_ LORD OF _MURDER_!"

And she did. This time, she was not afraid. This time, she did not run away. Instead, she slipped free the ashwood staff from her back. Gorion's script ran beneath her fingers, gleaming softly in the low light.

And Sarevok started down the steps toward her, laughing all the way.

* * *

A broken stone building shook some distance behind with the force of another explosion. It took a few moments, but the cracking, grinding sound was unmistakable. It started slowly, but quickly picked up speed. And within moments, the thing was a sprawling mass of collapsing, jumbling rock, washing out in a sea of dust as it all just fell apart.

It was still dark. But flames had caught hold everywhere on that barren, underground battleground it seemed. Another explosion wracked the earth. This one was farther away. It did not make much difference anymore.

A man detached himself from the stone ruins of a wall before – that Sembian with the falchion in hand from Cloudwulfe's band. Gardush. He was a stalking, creeping mass of plate and metal, the groaning quiet but all too clear in the brief lull between not so distant cries and blasts. He was making his way forward, picking it carefully as he did.

Those eyes glanced warily from side to side. The long, curved blade was held ready in one hand. A flash of light lit up the vaulted cavern ceiling above, and the man ducked down instantly for cover. Then the light faded, as quickly as it had come. When it did, Khalid let himself drop down from his perch atop crumbling stone above.

He made no sound. The man only heard the shift of stone as the half-Elf came gliding down, twin scimitars in hand. They swept in at the neck. Gardush just barely managed to force his own steel in between them with a grunt, and they both crashed down in a heap.

The stone beneath was uneven. Khalid rolled over the man and slid down one way, the Sembian tumbling over in the other. They both reached the bottom of the broken mound of dirt and rock at once. The half-Elven man was on his feet. The other only managed his knees.

Only their breathing pierced the lull. Khalid rushed him. The falchion swung hastily wide, and he leapt back. The Sembian gained one foot. Khalid swept in with a scimitar and slipped it up his side. The other slammed a fist into the half-Elven man's shoulder.

They both staggered back. Gardush tugged his curved blade back into the shadows between them. He thrust it forward. Khalid hopped back. It came up and around. He ducked low beneath it and slammed a hilt across the Sembian's face.

Gardush toppled over. Twin scimitars closed around curved blade and held it fast, twisting aside. The other pulled back up, and Khalid bashed him in the face with his own. The Sembian threw himself up once more, and the half-Elven man sent him swiftly back down.

The curved blade twisted away into the air. Khalid reeled back, and then swept in. He plunged for the kill …

And stopped.

Another blade had slipped in between them. He glanced up – only to have a fist snap hard into the side of his face. He stumbled.

"Sorry," someone said. "But this is not your fight."

The next blow took him back down off his feet.

"Imoen …"

The sound came at her through the haze, sharp and clear. She frowned – winced – and grimaced all at once. She let it pass her by.

Then it came again.

"Imoen!"

Someone was shaking her. She came up with a scream, knife flying in hand and eyes wide. Steel swept wide for flesh.

A hand caught her wrist before she could slit its throat. She still tried to anyways. But her left arm wasn't working so well. She shrieked into the other's face instead. That only got her a sharp blow across the cheek.

"_Quiet_!" a voice hissed at her. She tasted blood in her mouth. It was dark, but she still recognized it.

"Jaheira?" she breathed incredulously, blinking away sweat and dust. All she could remember was a wall of flame and hot air bursting toward her … and then everything had gone black.

The other woman didn't waste any time in explaining what had happened, though. She just snatched Imoen back up onto her feet, still clutching that wrist with the knife, and pulled her along.

Smoldering stone rubble was scattered everywhere. Ash choked the air. Imoen gagged on a mouthful of it, only to have Jaheira abruptly throw herself down flat to the jagged ground. The younger woman was forced along with her. Just as the broken rocks tore the breath free from her lungs, ribbons of light howled overhead. They scored stone and rubble beyond, lashing violently every which way. A wall behind them exploded into dust, shrieking aloud. It was like all the souls of the damned.

"MOVE."

The older woman nearly snapped off her ear. Imoen threw herself hastily back up, eyes wide and terrified. Jaheira was with her, though. She shoved the younger woman roughly forward. They both bolted for the next set of standing ruins across the open ground. A ball of acid met them halfway.

The druid threw the younger woman forward, and stopped dead in her tracks. The ball splashed molten yellow and green between them. Imoen tumbled over ahead of it. Some splattered back against Jaheira's thigh, though, and she went down to one knee with a vicious oath.

Imoen was scrambling back to her feet.

"_Jaheira_," she breathed.

"Move, girl!" the other hissed at her through clenched teeth. Jaheira started hobbling away in another direction even as Imoen turned to run. A ball of fire came screaming out to meet them.

The earth exploded. Imoen felt rock and flames sear her back, swallowing the place between them. Stone struck flesh from behind, and she went tumbling into the air. Jaheira vanished.

The pink-haired woman landed, rolling over into a shower of dust and dirt and rock. Then she lay there for a moment, spitting out broken earth and gagging on smoke and the smell of burning flesh.

She struggled up to her knees, and twisted back around. But the other woman was gone.

Without another thought, she got up, turned, and fled.

* * *

A sword swept in from behind her.

Evelyn ducked. The blade followed. She snatched the arm away from her and struck at the unseen face. Then something else snatched her up from behind.

That something roared. Suddenly she was tumbling through the air, over and away back to the far side of the room. She hit the stone, flipped over, and crashed down on her stomach, skidding. She could already hear boots clapping quickly towards her.

She looked up. Sarevok had started down the steps, slowly – calmly. The one bearing down on her had blade in hand as he barreled forward. She still had her staff. That blade swept high. She snatched the ashwood up.

Wood swung up and caught steel sweeping down. They twisted aside and her foot snapped out at his knee. He buckled. She climbed up over him, kicking the blade away. Sarevok had reached the bottom.

Something bellowed at her. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes twisting aside. All of a sudden, that something came lumbering out of the dark. She pivoted, but it loomed head and shoulders above her. One moment she was standing there. The next …

… She was up in the air and hurtling halfway across the room again. The bloody pink dress fluttered behind her.

Her skull smacked stone. She bounced right up, head spinning. It was just in time to catch sight of that huge man-beast bearing down on her once more. A massive sword swept in and down. She threw herself into a roll beneath it. The Kara-Turian blade slipped free from her side as she came up. It sliced up along the thing's leg, and it toppled with a roar.

She stumbled forward, nearly losing her balance. That other one was waiting for her. She caught sight of his face.

Angelo.

That face twisted and steel thrust up to break hers. She slapped it aside with her own. Then she whirled about, ashwood spinning in her other hand for his head. He ducked. She kicked him in the chest with one slippered foot, whirled about, and did it again. He tumbled over backwards.

Evelyn twisted instantly back toward the stairs – only to have the back of a metal gauntleted hand strike her hard across the face. She flew over onto her side, spat up blood, and briefly wondered how her neck had not snapped.

She pushed herself back up to hands and knees. He was waiting for her. Sarevok's boot swept in under her stomach and sent her spinning up into the air and away with a sharp cry. His laughter followed her the whole, brief way.

"You are weak, little sister," he said, stepping after her. "That fool old man has done nothing but tame you. You have not the skill or the knowledge for this future. It was _years_ in the making while you sat cloistered in a foolish _library_!"

She lay on her side. She couldn't feel her ribs. The ashwood staff lay next to her. She thrust a hand toward it, the Kara-Turian blade still clutched tightly between her fingers in the other.

"Simple wars spill countless waves of blood and no godly wrath is raised." His voice drew steadily closer. "It is but my _will_ that will shape the screams of the dying into the power I seek!"

He was almost on top of her.

"You could no more stop this than I could back away from it!"

She struggled over onto her stomach. His boots crunched loud in her ears.

"It is blood! It is _destiny_!" he thundered down at her. "Alaundo has foretold this fate!"

She twisted her eyes up to meet him.

"And, dear sister," he cooed, "it is time for you to take your rightful place."

Steel scraped along stone, sending a shower of sparks before it leapt up into the other's hand. It was the black blade from that night. And they both grinned wickedly down at her. Together.

"Goodbye … little sister."

They both came down as one. And she surged up to meet them.

* * *

"Minsc?"

The Rashemi Hathran picked her way down to one knee amidst the rubble, hugging the ruined fragments of a low stone wall. She edged her eyes just past one jagged side.

"Minsc!"

She kept her voice low. That hulking dark shape upon the ground amidst the small, scattered pockets of flame did not stir, however.

"_Minsc_!"

It was quiet here. Those others had moved on. But she could still hear them all too close. Her guardian had suffered far too much already. He could not protect himself or anyone else any longer.

Her eyes flashed up toward the temple ahead. The young woman had vanished inside. Something great and terrible was happening there within. And she could not be apart from it. Not now. Not after all she had done. How far she had come.

She started to pick her way carefully past the stone, keeping low to the ground. As she did so, however, something came swinging in for her skull.

Instinct and training saved her. Dynaheir threw herself aside and away, and it missed. Steel cracked hard against stone where her skull had been. It crumbled into jagged shards about the metal.

She fell onto her back, and looked up. A man was standing there just to the other side of the wall – one of the Sembians. He had clubbed it with a stout mace head. His eyes followed her down, and his lips twitched upwards in a half-sneer.

"Just where do you think you are going?"

She did not even think. She just threw the first cantrip at him that popped into her head, leapt to her feet, and ran. His boots came quickly clamoring after.

* * *

Jaheira limped hastily forward, threw herself down against a stone outcropping, and caught her breath.

Another explosion sounded close by. She did not think it had been meant for her. She waited until the quiet took over. There was no one close. Then she let herself suck in several more ragged breaths.

Her leg still burned. She did not have the time or energy to waste on trying to heal it. The others could be in far more need than her. She had not seen what had happened to the girl. It was a small wound anyways.

She tore away the leather at her thigh. Too much of it had fused with the flesh beneath the bubbling acid, and she nearly cried out anew at the feel of it ripping free. She bit her tongue – hard. And when it was over, fresh blood came spilling out.

She tore off the rest of her pant leg, and started wrapping it around the wound. It was hardly sufficient, but it would do. For now. There were far more pressing matters to deal with just then.

She had to find Khalid. She had left him for only a moment to get the girl. Evelyn had disappeared inside the old temple. Silvanus only knew what she might find in there waiting. They had to get whoever was left and out of that crossfire they had gotten themselves into. She did not know who those other men were, but they certainly were no more averse to killing them than Sarevok and his men. They could not let Evelyn remain in there alone.

"_RAHVIN_!"

She stilled at that sudden sound, pressing herself back flat against stone. All at once a man came bursting into view out of the dark from one side, a massive scythed blade dangling from one hand. He glanced quickly about as he jogged onward, but she was just another shadow down there to his side against the ground.

"Gutless _filth_! Come out and face ME!"

The man only made it a few more steps before a blast of lightning lit up the open space there amidst the rubble. It struck the ground at the man's feet, and catapulted him over into the air in an explosion of rock and dust. He landed on his side a half-dozen paces behind.

The man roared out, throwing himself back up on his knees. Then his feet. Another blast of light was waiting for him when he did.

He leapt past this one with a triumphant grunt. Then he pulled a knife free from his belt. He started quickly forward, scythed blade still hanging from his other arm.

Light flashed anew across the space, bubbling out of the dark. As soon as it did, Zhalimar Cloudwulfe reeled back, and threw. The knife hurtled away into shadow. A ball of fire traded him coming back. The man threw himself down, and it set the stone ablaze behind. Jaheira had to pitch herself over to avoid the gout blasting over her. There was a bellowing cry in the darkness.

"Shaldrissa!"

The man in the open was back on his feet. This time he waited, a vicious grin plastered across his dusky face. Jaheira watched. For long moments, no one came.

The druid didn't dare move. Not yet. She waited. And then someone did come. He came flying out over stone to meet the other, blade in hand and howling. Zhalimar only laughed softly to himself.

"There you are."

* * *

Black blade swept in for her head once more. Evelyn ducked. Angelo Dosan was waiting for her to one side when she came back up. He thrust in with his blade. She pushed it aside and slapped his face with the butt of her staff. The giant bellowed behind. She leapt over his driving blade and cracked wood against his thick skull.

She twisted back toward Sarevok. His boot met her stomach.

The man laughed as she tumbled backwards and away. Dosan was already shaking his head, pulling himself back together. The ogre-beast only grunted, flashing long teeth. They followed quickly after.

Evelyn was back on her feet. She met the commander head on, ducked, and sent him up and over her back. The other – she ducked beneath his mighty blow, stabbed the staff into his knee, and sliced open his forearm with her blade. Sarevok stepped leisurely up, caught her, and threw her into the air and aside.

That low laughter followed after. She hit the ground, throwing herself instantly back over and up. The black demon with his murderer's blade only grinned beneath his empty skull. All three moved toward her once more.

Dosan nearly caught her this time. He charged her headlong as he had each time before. There was not the cold amusement of the others in his eyes when he made for her. There was only the blood-curdling certainty of death and a thick, red haze. Her blade met his just ahead of her face. The ashwood staff took his feet.

The beast was next. It was only a step behind, slow moving on its limping leg but vicious. It swung in, tried to snatch her up with its free hand when it missed, and she stabbed at it. It bellowed down at her, sounding a deep, barking laugh. Then its massive blade came up and over and down like the headsman's axe. She leapt aside, and stone burst.

It had hunched over. Her foot met its face. The thing growled, snapped, and stumbled back.

Sarevok was there once more. He swung in at her, missed, and swung again. It was a half-hearted effort. He was just toying with her, laughing while he waited for the other two to wear her down. They did. She bounced haphazardly ahead of his blade, again and again. But she was slowing. Fighting all three every which way at once was draining her too quickly. And he was content merely to wait for that end.

Tamoko had gotten up again. Evelyn could have almost hoped she'd been dead. It didn't matter. She caught Angelo rushing at her from behind, spun, and sent him crashing into her. That black blade sliced down against her thigh.

Evelyn cried out and nearly fell. It was only a nick, though, as much as it suddenly burned in her flesh. The man-beast was coming at her again from one side, but Sarevok didn't give it the chance.

He stepped in, snatched her up close by the arm and spat down at her ear, "What are you waiting for, sister? This is our father's work!"

With another heave, he sent her hurling into the air and back across the room.

She screamed as she hit the ground. It was not in pain, though. It was in anger. Frustration. She lost the Kara-Turian blade. It clattered away across the floor. She didn't even bother to lunge after it. She just came right back around, thrusting back up to her feet, teeth bared.

The Ogre was waiting.

Two-handed blade held in one came swinging down and through. Her staff came up. The two met, and she went abruptly crashing down under the weight of it. The thing smacked her right into the floor.

She held it there, for a moment. For once, she got a clear view of the thing's face as it bore down on her. There was something decidedly human about it, even as it pressed close with its jagged teeth and yellow eyes. It forced all of its weight quickly into her, gnashing its jaws.

The blade crept closer, forcing ashwood back. Her arms shook. The thought of it seemed so suddenly ridiculous.

She lost an inch.

The thing grunted, and ashwood met skin. It divided her face in two. Her arms were trembling wildly.

They buckled.

For one brief, terrible moment, she could feel steel slicing into flesh. She cried out. Then …

… It just stopped.

The beast grunted. Then it straightened. She blinked up at it in horrified surprise. It grunted again, and nearly stepped on her as it staggered a step forward. It growled, and twisted back around. Evelyn rolled out dazedly from under it, and then looked as well.

"_TAZOK_!"

Another arrow hissed out of the gloom. It struck the Ogre-man in the chest. This time, it just snapped the thing free.

It was Kivan. Evelyn could only watch as he drew once more. The beast – Tazok – started lumbering toward him, double-edged blade in hand. Another arrow came hurtling free. Tazok didn't even flinch, limping on and picking up speed. The ranger drew again. But he didn't get a chance to fire. He just threw down his bow. The half-Ogre crashed headlong into him, and both went hurtling away into the dark.

* * *

Khalid swept into Gardush's side. The other Sembian met him with his curved blade just as he was coming up, twin scimitars flashing against steel in the gloom. He came around again, high and low. The man's blade was long enough for both. The half-Elf elbowed him in the chest.

Gardush was at his back then. Khalid ducked beneath his swing only to have another gauntlet slam into his cheek. He went down, but not before a scimitar had sliced between plates and through.

The second Sembian was back on his feet. He rushed Gardush before the man could follow through. That one doubled over, lifted the first up, and tossed him across his back. Khalid whirled in at his flank.

Gardush met him, blow for blow, inching back. Steel rang shrilly in the dark. The other Sembian howled a moment later, and the half-Elf whipped around to meet him, push him back, and then slice at Gardush before he could close in. They boxed him in between them, one to each side, and he became a dervish, flitting from first one to the other. The two Sembians' blades met each other over Khalid's head, and he threw himself aside.

He came back, and the two Sembians were still fighting. He waited, watched one turn his back, and leapt back in.

* * *

"Come out, come out, little one. Let us make this _quick_."

Her hand twitched at the sound of his voice, nearly losing the knife. But it wasn't so close. Yet. She peeked around stone toward an open, rubble-strewn and uneven space between. Then she snatched herself instantly back. He wasn't there either.

She slipped a second knife into her other hand. But it was numb, and next to useless.

"Why dontcha come find me?"

She winced.

"Oh … I will."

She tossed both daggers into that bad hand, picked up a chunk of broken stone, and threw. She bolted the other way.

Light flared in the dark. Almost at once, somewhere opposite, a wall burst into flaming pieces. They rained down into the night.

Imoen scurried up behind the next looming shadow. A wall. She caught her breath. And listened.

Quiet. Stones and dust rolled down along the broken earth.

"Still alive, little one?" that disembodied voice rang out then. She still couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"No!" she called back, biting a lip.

"A pity …"

She snatched up another rock, and threw high. Almost before she had, daylight burst into the shadows above her head. Something whistled – screaming close. The wall behind her went up in a pillar of flame. She barely had time to scream before it swallowed her too.

* * *

Footsteps picked their way closer through the rubble. The old man was leaning heavily upon his staff, but he had no wounds. His coarse breathing filled that cleared space between the two blasted buildings, heavy eyes darting lightly and curiously about. When they finally reached the young man sprawled out on the ground, he stopped.

That staff swung about. Then it stabbed down into the ground before the fallen man's face. He did not move. The old man clucked his tongue. Then he started swatting that other's face with the butt of the staff.

"Hrrm. You dead, boy?"

No answer.

He glanced down to the curly-haired young man's side, studying the crested shield there for a moment. The scant white whiskers on his face crinkled about his withered lips.

"Waterdhavian …?"

He reached a wrinkled hand over toward that gilded emblem.

All at once the knight twisted about on his side, fist snatching that staff and pulling it close. With his other hand, he shoved his sword into the man's gut.

The old man sucked in a startled, useless breath. Then he slumped. Ajantis pulled his blade free, and tossed the man aside.

He climbed quickly back to his feet, breathing deep and leaning on his sword. He cast about, but there was no one else around. He couldn't quite remember just what had happened. The temple behind caught his eye soon enough, though. He had no doubts as to just where she would have gone. He started hurriedly off that way.

He didn't make it ten steps before something struck him from behind. Then he was catapulted forward off his feet.

* * *

One misplaced step. Her low-cut boot slipped. A shower of rock and dust went skittering away, and she froze.

The Rashemi Hathran held her breath, hugging the broken heap of ruined building. Those two sets of voices were somewhere down below, unconcerned. Perhaps they had not heard. Well, she was just going to have to give them a reason to fear.

She pulled herself up. She could hardly see much below, but she managed. She drew both slim arms back, invoked the incantation, and sent fire screaming down into the dark.

Light flashed in the shadows. It barely touched them before it burst. And then those voices were crying out.

Silence.

She waited one anxious moment, eyes darting amidst the low flames. Then there was a pinprick of light. She was already moving. It came hurtling into the space where she had stood and blew it to pieces. They hammered into her back from behind even as she fell away into the black once more.

* * *

Dosan swung. Missed. Swung again. And missed again.

Evelyn leapt ahead, ducked beneath, and whirled about. He thrust down into her. It slide along the side of her ribs. She didn't feel it. She snatched his arm, shoved a fist into his face, snapped the bone, and then stomped his knee. It broke, and she threw him away.

Sarevok was standing there with his sword. He let his dark eyes drift back from where they had watched the Elven ranger and Tazok wrestling everywhere beyond. They wheeled about and fixed on her.

Those dark lips twitched into a smirk. He took that black blade and stabbed it down into the stone. It stuck.

"Come, little sister," he beckoned with a hand. "Come and face your brother!"

She had lost all of her weapons. She didn't need them. Only the dagger and moonblade still hung at her waist. She let her hands hang empty.

"I'm _not_ your sister."

He smiled down at her, bowing that crowned head slightly. Then he snatched that sword back up and threw it at her.

She ducked. Steel swept clean, hissing over. It clattered away behind. When she came back up, he was towering over her.

Two fists struck stomach and chest. She went sailing back off her feet after his blade without a sound. She hit the stone on her side, and slid.

He started after. She stopped, and threw herself back up to her feet. Then he was standing over her. A mighty fist came slamming down.

She spun, snapped a fist of her own up into his helmeted face, spun again, and wheeled in a second blow. He took the first with one hand, the next with the side of his arm. She leapt to her feet, one slippered foot whipping up and about toward his ear beneath steel. He caught it in both arms, held fast, and swung her bodily away.

Evelyn tumbled through the air and back across the chamber. Her back hit the ground. She rolled over and scrambled back up to her feet. Sarevok reached a hand down to haul her up.

She twisted free. Her fist swung wide for his horned head. He ducked. She bounced one knee, and kicked high for his chest, scattering her skirts. He turned, letting it flash past. He slammed a hand into her own chest, and she toppled.

She was back on her feet in an instant. He snatched her up by both shoulders and twisted around, throwing her away across the stone.

Her voice rang out as she hit the ground once more, scarring the walls in frustration. She snapped back around, baring her teeth. The other only followed after.

"Yes, sister," he cooed, "that's it. Bring your rage to bear. _Leave_ this tamed world of mortals behind."

Fingers clutched tightly about Gorion's dagger in one hand.

"The god is dead but his power is still there, waiting for a will."

He was almost on top of her.

"What are you waiting for?"

She slashed up at him with a sharp cry as he reached down for her. The dagger struck black plate, sparking. He flinched, caught himself, and then sneered. He had her arm in one hand. He threw her back up and away.

She stumbled. He followed. Tazok roared somewhere across the chamber as she wrenched herself back around. The dagger flashed once, twice – three times. He caught it with either gauntlet. Then he swung one for her head. She wove around it, spun about, and sent a foot crashing down across his face inside the helm. Those dark eyes snapped instantly back. Her foot came whirling about once more. He slapped it aside, and slammed his fist down into skull.

She flopped down, head spinning. She thought she heard bone crack.

The knife flung haphazardly up. Sarevok moved easily around it. He caught her arm, and hauled her back up to her feet. Another gauntlet hammered into her chest, and she flew back, tumbling over and down.

He cried out – a fierce, barking laugh.

"You are weak, dear sister!" He started after her. "You have destroyed your slayer within. I have _tamed_ mine! I use him as _I _see fit!"

He reached down again. Both her hands snatched his, and she pulled him in, kicking out with both legs. He stumbled back, and she threw herself to her feet.

She nearly toppled again. It took a moment to still her pounding skull. Sarevok caught himself, growling. She rushed him, leapt into the air, and sent both feet crashing into his chest once more.

The other bellowed out at her, even as he staggered back. She landed low on her feet, nearly topping back over, hit the floor, spun back up, and sent another slippered foot whirling for his skull. He took it, waited for the next, and caught it with both arms crossed. She landed hard and swept low. His feet fell out from under him, and he tumbled over to stone.

Gorion's dagger flashed in one hand. She leapt atop him and stabbed down.

She got as far as his throat before he caught her.

The knife dangled between them, blade jutting just beneath that monster's skull wrapped about his head. Both gauntleted hands were clutched tightly at her wrists, pressing back even as she pushed forward and down. The steel trembled there above its mark. She bared her teeth. He flexed a finger.

Stone exploded somewhere beyond. Tazok was howling. So was Kivan.

She pushed harder, forcing her whole body into it. She could see the other's eyes begin to glow beneath that helm.

The knife drifted closer. He was still as stone. Both her hands were trembling wildly, pushing with all her might. His chin bobbed above it.

"Tell me …"

His voice came at her, slow and calm.

"_Dear_ sister …"

"Don't speak," she snapped back down at him. The dagger dipped just an inch closer.

"What would you do with yourself if you were to kill me?" he continued quietly. She wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on that tiny point of steel pressing closer and closer to his dusky flesh. "What would you do with your pathetic little life if it were free?" he asked, "of a monster … like me?"

"TAZOK!"

A loud grunt was the only reply.

She pushed even harder.

"Think on it, sister …" he cooed on at her. Her knuckles were white and ready to burst. "You have misunderstood your purpose. It is the most common form of stupidity." He actually managed to smile up at her through that gaping maw. "No price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning one's self. Even if it is paid in blood …"

"Shut up."

She growled at him. The knife was just at his throat. He hardly seemed to care.

"We are both monsters you see, dear sister. This world could never accept us willingly. And we must sow chaos in our footsteps." It was a rictus grin on his face, fixed on her. "Father Bhaal was a fool. Alaundo knew not of what he spoke. And the rivers and streets will run _red_ – with _blood_ before we are through!"

The knife stabbed into his flesh. It didn't even slow him down.

"Do you not yet realize?" he laughed at her, shaking with that little blood. It brought on even more. "There is no great evil to fight, sister! Save that within ourselves!"

"No."

She shook her head. She shook her head down at him even as she pushed that blade into his throat.

"No."

She bit into her lip until it bled. For a moment, she could see Gorion.

"Goodbye …"

The blade slipped aside, stealing away a chunk of his flesh. It struck stone floor like an anvil, and she gasped.

Both his hands came back. They slammed hard into the side of her head, and she tumbled aside. He clasped one to his bleeding neck, and climbed back to his feet.

"You think this madness, little sister?"

He grinned back down at her. She scrambled away and up to her hands and knees.

"Well."

He hefted Gorion's dagger in one hand as she pushed herself hastily back up to her own feet.

"There is always some reason in madness."

He started toward her. She came back around.

"Let me show you mine."

* * *

"RaaH!"

Those two blades met with a sharp cry in the dark. Rahvin had come flying over broken stone, launching himself through the air and straight for the other Sembian's head. Zhalimar's hafted blade was there to meet it.

Both men began dancing about one another, Rahvin whirling to one side with his own blade while the other's swept down and out easily to ward it aside once more. Left, right, left, and straight through. Zhalimar kept pace, sidestepping him at the last. The butt end of his hafted blade flashed up and caught the other man in the stomach.

Jaheira barely spared them more than a glance. Instead she tested her leg, pushing it down into a hard spot of broken rock. She hoped it could hold. That was not her fight. She had to get back to the others.

Zhalimar followed the other man up with the opposite end of his weapon. Steel sliced empty air as Rahvin twisted away to one side. His fist caught Cloudwulfe on the side of the skull and sent him stumbling.

"You will pay for that, Zhalimar," he hissed after the man, bringing his blade about. "I will see you _dead_ for her …"

The other man barked a laugh, catching himself and coming back around. "If you could have killed me, Rahvin, you would have done it long before now."

Rahvin said nothing, only leapt at him. Zhalimar met that blade with his own, and turned it aside.

The half-Elven woman pulled herself up from the ground, pitting her staff there amidst the rock. She set herself gingerly back on her feet, and pushed away.

The two Sembians twisted about one another, Rahvin's blade sweeping one way, Zhalimar's the other. They both ducked, dodged, and then came in again. Steel clashed wood and metal both, Rahvin slipped in and Cloudwulfe bashed him back out.

"You are too slow, old friend!"

Rahvin only growled back. Zhalimar's hafted blade swept around and down.

The druid started to pick up speed. She hobbled along as quickly as she could, letting them vanish behind.

Then one of them fell.

Zhalimar whipped around, blade out, but Rahvin was already ducking low. He came back up, his own hilt slapping the other man up across the chin. It slammed hard back down across his face and sent him sprawling. Metal spilled down against the stone and that hafted blade fell away.

Rahvin's eyes darted after it. Before the fallen man could move to snatch it back up, however, the other had his own blade leveled down on Cloudwulfe's heart.

Those lips twitched upwards into the ghost of a smile. Rahvin said nothing. He reeled back and drove forward.

Zhalimar wrenched with it. The blade caught inside his armor as he did. His hand came up, snatched free the dagger at the other man's belt, and thrust it into his side.

Rahvin tumbled down to his knees. Zhalimar picked himself up. With a grunt, he pulled free the blade from his armor. There was blood on it. Rahvin fumbled trembling hands with the steel in his side. His own blade swept clean across his throat in the standing man's hands before he could do anything about it, though.

Zhalimar Cloudwulfe tossed away that blade even as the other man pitched forward into the dust. He spit down after him.

Jaheira spared them one last look. Then she started to run.

She only got three steps before that leg gave out.

The half-Elven woman went down with a sharp cry. Stone stabbed into her gut. She clawed into it with both hands, instantly forcing herself back up. Cloudwulfe's head snapped about.

The man said something she couldn't hear. Then he reached down for that hafted blade. He started towards her.

She was pulling herself up along the staff. He picked up speed. The blood leaking from his sliced mail barely slowed him. She sucked in a deep breath and was back on her unsteady feet.

He hefted that blade up, and charged her.

* * *

The man leapt out around the corner, a blur of cloak and leather and steel. Imoen had a hand out and ready. Light flared and she blasted him right back off his feet.

The man tumbled away. Imoen hardly wasted a moment. She bounced after him, dagger in hand. It came crashing down into the side of his chest.

The other man cried out, then hissed. He bared his teeth at her. His arm slammed up into her bad one and she toppled with a sharp cry of her own.

She rolled over onto her stomach. Somehow, she was back on her feet. But so was he. He had her dagger in his hand, a gaping hole in his chest. Another slipped into her palm from her sleeve.

"I tire of this game, little one," he snapped, bouncing that knife from hand to hand as he eyed her. She ignored the stabbing pain in her arm.

"Then stop playing."

He smiled at her. Then he threw that knife. She was ready. Her hand lit up and so did his chest.

The man staggered back. The knife flew wide, clattering away into the dark. He laughed, stumbling a few leaden steps. She almost lost him in the dark.

"I am going to enjoy wrapping you in your own entrails, little one …"

She had another blast ready for him, but she never got the chance. He threw his own magic at her of a sudden, fire exploding into her side. She cried out, and he pounced.

They both went down.

* * *

A curved blade came sweeping in for his neck. Khalid took it with his own and twisted aside. That falchion swept up between, and Gardush fisted the other Sembian in the chest. He stumbled, catching the blade as it followed through. Then Khalid was slicing back in.

The falchion whipped about, and pushed him back. The half-Elf kicked out at the man's knee, and stumbled a step. Gardush pitch backward, leg buckling. A curved blade swept in before he could pull himself back up, though. It took his head away at the neck.

Khalid watched as that head bounced away into the dark. The other Sembian still living did too. The Gardush's body collapsed into the dirt. Then they were left staring at each other.

The silence didn't last long. But it was not them that broke it. A bowstring creaked to one side.

Both men twisted that way. The Sembian bowman from before was standing there. He had an arrow drawn and leveled with the half-Elven man's heart.

The Sembian with his curved blade looked back. A smile broke slowly across his face.

* * *

"Look out!"

_Too late._

That man with the hammer blew himself to pieces before he could think to listen. The other fell away in surprise.

Dynaheir pulled her hand back. There was nothing left of the dead man but smoking rubble.

Then her eyes found the other. Words were already dancing on her tongue for him.

The Sembian did not give her the chance. Before she could loose that next spell, he cried out and rushed headlong into her. She flew up into the air and back off her feet.

* * *

A fist swung low and up. It took the half-Ogre right in the stomach between leather plates. The ranger snatched free a knife in one hand. Tazok caught him with one arm and sent him twisting aside into a pillar.

Kivan slumped, head lolling. The other was already moving, rushing toward him there on the ground. He lowered one broad shoulder. The ranger seemed to gain his senses then. He tossed himself aside and the half-Ogre plowed right into stone.

The Elf pulled himself up, bouncing back on unsteady feet. Tazok stumbled away, shaking his massive head. The ranger planted that dagger there in the beast's side.

The half-Ogre grunted, snatched the Elf up, and swung him aside into another column. It splintered, and Kivan tumbled away to the ground.

Tazok staggered back. Somehow, Kivan was back on his feet and stumbling the opposite way. His legs hardly seemed to work.

The half-Ogre stopped, casting about for his lost weapon. Then he had it. He snatched it up from the ground and threw it after the ranger. It missed and hissed away into the room. It took one of those scythed statutes and the thing burst. Kivan threw himself away out of the dust, and fell once more.

On the other side of the room, Sarevok whirled into the raven-haired woman with a grunt. Evelyn ducked under his fist, snapping one of her own up into his bare face. He ducked around it. She sent another one in instantly. He twisted away from that one too. Her foot came up, lashing for his chin. He slapped it aside with an arm, snatched her up by both shoulders and launched her across the room.

She rolled, tumbled over, and got up. Sarevok was there in an instant. His hand caught her throat and threw her back up into a pillar. Her back slammed hard against stone.

Her eyes caught his. Those dark ones had begun to glow beneath. They were almost brilliant as his face twisted up at her. The rest of the room was spinning round them.

"Are you beginning to understand?" he snarled up at her. "Are you beginning to see just what we are about?"

He pulled her over and threw her back. She skidded along the stone.

"What is good, little sister?" he cooed after as he gradually closed the distance once more. "What are these pitiful little morals that the mortals try to throw in our way – to block our path, defeat our destiny?"

She pushed herself back up on her knees. His voice continued on just behind.

"Power, dear sister," he growled. "It all falls away like nothing before our power. They are the evil ones. _They _are the ones born of weakness, endlessly desiring that no other should stand taller than they do. Out of _fear_ …"

His arm reached down for her from behind. She bashed it away, spun, and thrust her foot into his stomach. He reeled back, snarled, and then snatched her up. His arm closed around her neck and held her fast.

Her hands clawed at his arm, tight at her throat. He lowered his face down next to her ear, gazing on ahead.

"Look at that," he told her softly. When she only gnashed her teeth trying to pull herself free, he shook her. "_Look_."

Her eyes flashed upward. Tazok and Kivan were wrestling with each other across the chamber. Another ancient pillar blew itself to pieces around the half-Ogre's fist. The ranger ducked aside and then leapt at him from behind. The next moment they were stumbling apart, hardly keeping their feet. Then they both rushed the other with a bellowing cry, teeth gnashing and hands like claws tearing at flesh. She almost lost them in it.

Sarevok's low laugh was in her ear.

"Like animals, yes," he said. "_Beasts_. Mindless, and with so little purpose other than to tear each other apart in an endless cycle on this pitiful little world." He shook his head slightly with a half grin. "You have seen it, dear sister. I have _made_ you see it. You should be thanking me for tearing you free of that peaceful little prison-home of yours. You would have wasted away to nothing, and been forgotten."

She tried to wrench that arm away from her throat, digging in her fingers like talons. It was no use. He flexed the muscle and squeezed even tighter. And her eyes began to feel like they would pop out from her skull.

"Struggle gives us strength," he continued. "That strength brings us power. But it is not to waste on the futile little contests of this world. No," he chanted, "we belong to a higher realm above it! Like father Bhaal before us, these beasts are here only to be harnessed for the slaughter."

The half-Ogre slammed through another pillar with his skull. He even managed to shatter a fang or two. Kivan flashed in again with his knife, but he was too slow. Tazok batted him away almost too easily.

"We are not like them, little sister." His voice fell low and bitter. "We were born with the power to rise above this pathetic little existence. Bhaal's Throne of Blood is empty. Why should _we_ not be the ones to claim it?" He snapped the last off in her ear.

She barely heard him anymore.

Kivan was dying. She could see that. They all were … somewhere beyond that place. She had left them behind, unthinking. She had only cared about that moment – about finally catching the demon that had hounded her for so long. She had only cared about herself, and her revenge.

Tazok was hammering the Elf with a mighty fist. He pummeled the smaller man into the ground. Kivan could never have won that fight. It all became so very clear to her then. He had never meant to. He had meant only to face that beast and die down there. Alone.

It all became so _very _clear to her then. Her eyes began to roll back into her head even as her hands held their death grip on Sarevok's choking arm. She lost sight of the other two. It didn't matter. It might as well have been her. They had both come down there to die.

"You are going to die here, little sister," the other's voice echoed in her ear. "But I promise you will not be forgotten. None of us will be."

His face twisted against the side of hers. The blood in her veins beat frantically back at it.

"Once I carve my bloody path to the very Hells themselves," it rang on inside her skull, "I will make certain that the Realms _never forget_ the Children of Bhaal or their ultimate destroyer …"

Something came howling up from the depths. It plunged into her brain.

"… The _new_ Lord of Murder …"

Her hands began to slip free.

"SAREVOK … _ANCHEV_!"

Something struck him in the side of the head. His helmet flew away, vanishing into the room. His body shuddered, and the arm came free. All at once, Evelyn collapsed against the stone, sucking air into her seething chest and gagging on it.

Sarevok staggered sideways. That hardly stopped him from whipping both arms wide into whoever had struck him. They flew back and away without a sound. His dark, gleaming eyes followed after.

Evelyn clawed her way away from him against the floor. The man didn't notice her, though. His face had twisted in irritation as it turned. But it abruptly went slack. His eyes lost that glow.

A woman hung there several paces away, just above the ground. It was she who had struck him. And that honey-colored skin and black eyes were all too familiar. Those eyes fixed with his for a moment, wide and terrible. Her jaw bounced up, trying to speak. All that came out, though, was blood.

The stone blade of one of those statues jutted forth proudly from Tamoko's chest. It had just missed the heart. But it didn't take long for that gaping hole to kill her just the same. She trembled, head bobbing. And then she died.

Sarevok just stared.

Tazok threw himself into another of those statues across the room after the ranger and the ceiling actually shook. Rock and dust rained down from above, bursting against the floor right next to the black-plated man. He saw none of it, though. He just sat there on his knees, transfixed. He did not move.

And that was where Evelyn's own fist found him … as it came crashing down from behind against his skull.

* * *

Imoen tossed over onto her back. The Sembian came with her. A dagger flashed past her head, scoring broken rock. She rolled the other way, and a fist slipped past her other ear. Her own slammed into the man's stomach. He grunted, and fell back.

The pink-haired woman leapt up, another dagger in her good hand. The man flung his own hand up after her, and a flash of light flared in her face. Her head snapped down beneath it and half the wall behind her blasted away.

The man leapt back to his feet. So did Imoen. The knife flashed in her hand. Then it bloomed in his chest and he went right back down. She pounced on him with the next, and he screamed as she broke his throat.

* * *

A mace screamed over Dynaheir's head, slamming hard into wall above it. The thing came back around even as she flitted away, swinging wide. The priest missed. Swung again. Missed again.

He growled after her. Light flared in his hand, fire in hers. He threw the other one at her face.

She caught his hand, twisted around behind him, and thrust a fingertip under the base of his skull. The space ahead of them roared with light. Then is head vanished in a blaze of fire.

* * *

The old priest was chanting. Ajantis threw himself forward, sword and shield in either hand, with a harsh cry. A ward flew free from the old man's hands. It took the knight's shield, exploding. He stumbled closer.

The old man clutched his stomach. He was dead already, but he still managed another spell. It struck the knight in the chest this time, throwing him down to his feet. For a moment, his heart stopped dead.

The priest raised a hand, drawing closer. Ajantis tossed himself back to his feet only to catch a third blast with his shield. It burst into a dozen pieces, and every bone in his arm seemed to suddenly snap all at once.

An explosion shook the ground somewhere in the distance.

He was down on his knees then, crying out as pain lashed out the insides of his skull. When he looked up, the priest was standing over him, grinning. His lips were moving.

The other never got the chance to finish.

The knight's sword took the old man's raised hand off at the wrist, and then he shoved it right through him a second time. This time the old man fell dead. Ajantis followed him soon after, collapsing down against the ground. He rolled over onto his back and did not move.

* * *

Khalid froze for a moment. Just a moment. Then he was moving.

The bowman loosed.

The half-Elven man leapt for the other Sembian with the curved blade, warded it aside with his own, planted the other in the man's side, and twisted him around. The arrow struck the Sembian's chest … and he exploded.

The whole world turned a brilliant white.

* * *

Zhalimar Cloudwulfe howled aloud as his hafted blade came down. Jaheira rolled aside along the ground. The man snatched it back up, and it came swinging down for her again. The oaken staff flung up to meet it. The blade crashed aside, and came about once more. It split the staff right in two.

Her good foot struck out and caught the man in the plated stomach. Zhalimar grunted, staggering back.

Jaheira tried to pull herself up. Without her staff, though, she was flat on her back again almost instantly. She flung the useless wood away with a curse.

Zhalimar laughed. He pulled himself back together, straightening. He hefted that hafted blade in his hand.

"Not much hope for you, little one," he grinned down at her. She tried to pull herself along backward and away with her elbows. That blade swung up high into the air over her head.

A shadow was suddenly looming just over the man's shoulder. Jaheira froze. But the Sembian didn't notice.

The blade started to come down.

Something struck the man in the back. The druid kept her senses. She just managed to kick out another foot between them with her good leg. And Cloudwulfe fell down to his knees in front of her.

He twisted around instantly, ignoring her, and pulling his blade back up with him. Then he stopped dead in his tracks at the other's face.

"You," Zhalimar grunted in disbelief.

The giant Rashemi stoood hunched over and seething before him. His chest was soaked with blood, his flesh burnt and bruised, his eyes wide and terrible. Jaheira froze where she was upon the ground, staring in surprise. So had the Sembian.

It only lasted a moment.

That hafted blade came about without another word. Minsc's own blade leapt to life beside him, turning it aside. Zhalimar nearly lost it, stumbling a step. Then he whipped back around from the other side. Man-sized blade caught the giant Rashemi in the side even as his own double-bladed sword thrust right through the other's stomach.

Zhalimar grunted. His face twisted. Then he buckled. Minsc snatched his blade free, swung his arms about, and sent it crashing through the other man. His head and a good chunk of what stuck beneath it vanished into the dark without a sound.

Zhalimar Cloudwulfe's body collapsed down upon its knees and toppled to one side.

After another moment, the giant Rashemi's did the same.

* * *

Evelyn's fist leapt toward Sarevok's face. The man took it with one arm, warding it aside. Another replace it, swinging for the other side. That one struck. Her elbow slapped across his jaw and he stumbled a step. She bounced back and sent her foot crashing into his chest.

The man staggered. Then he threw his head, snarling at her. He rushed her, body low. She twisted around and sent her elbow hammering down into his back as he passed.

The ashwood staff was lying on the stone floor at her feet. She snatched it up and came back around. When she did, the other had that black blade waiting for her.

Obsidian steel flashed in with a roar. She took it with the staff, whirled about, and took the next blow. She forced it aside. The butt of the staff flashed up and stuck in his gut.

He lost a few steps. She thrust a leg after him and he lost a few more. She spun about low for his feet but he just managed to keep them. He slapped the staff aside and then sent a gauntlet swinging for her skull. She ducked beneath it. Then that blade came sweeping up. She threw herself back and over off her feet and it caught only empty air.

Her body twisted around, arcing, and she landed back on her feet a few paces away. Sarevok's boot crashed into her chest.

She was suddenly sprawling out on the floor then. The back of her skull smacked stone.

A dark form loomed above her. Her eyes snapped up, and she could see Sarevok swinging that black blade up over his head. He didn't say anything. He just let it come crashing down.

The ashwood staff came instantly up …

… And the world turned white.

She felt her back hit stone. Her side slapped the floor and her eyes popped open.

She was a dozen paces away, her back wedged against a broken column. The air couldn't quite make its way into her lungs, but she didn't bother to try too hard. Her whole body shook, and every muscle spasmed. After a moment, she managed to fling one leg over until she was lying on her back.

Her hands were sprawled out to either side of her. Both still held the staff, but they were impossibly far apart. She tilted her head slowly to see each one. Both her knuckles were still white about smoothed ashwood. It only took her another moment to notice the broken, jagged shards that it had become.

The script had exploded into the wood, melting away what it had been etched into before. There was nothing left. Just the broken bits she still held in either hand. Her eyes twitched from one to the other uselessly for a time. Eventually, she could breathe again.

Sarevok was pulling himself back up across the chamber. His sword was still in one piece, buried in the stone back near those stone steps he had first descended from. Her eyes suddenly latched on him, coming to stand. He paid her no heed, only stumbling his way haphazardly after that blade.

The broken shards of the staff fell away. She forced herself back up. Her feet wobbled beneath her, and she nearly fell again as she leapt forward after the other. He was weaving wildly about, legs buckling with every step. She started picking up speed.

Kivan abruptly rolled ahead of her, sliding along in front of her path and then flying back up on his feet. She lost sight of Sarevok. Tazok stumbled in after the ranger, snatched him up from behind, and sent him hurtling over ahead again. They passed. And Sarevok was there once more.

Her own legs all but refused to work, and slid like they were on a ship. She growled, and pushed them on.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye.

She blinked, as much from her spinning, floating head as the sight of Angelo there to one side of the chamber. He was struggling to pull something free from beside him, eyes fixed on her and face smeared with blood. A dead Tamoko still hung above him, dribbling more of it.

Evelyn didn't slow. That something came free in the guard commander's hand – a twisted rod of wood and metal that he pulled around in front of him. Even through that whirling haze … she would have known a magical rod when she saw one. The fallen man adjusted the thing with his broken limbs until it was pointed right at her.

Her legs pumped faster. For a moment, they worked. She threw herself at the black-plated fiend ahead.

Sarevok staggered. Fell to one knee. And reached out a hand. He caught his blade. In the next moment, he started to pull it free.

Evelyn could feel that rod boring into her back as she charged after the other. Angelo moved with her. She could feel it. And her legs pushed her faster. Only one thought ripped, screaming through her head – and that was to take the dusky-skinned man with her.

But something buckled. Her legs suddenly gave way.

The rod exploded in a flash of light. A fireball the size of a horse's head howled across the room.

She fell flat on her face.

The fireball flashed between her and Sarevok just as he came twisting back around, eating up the dank air behind it. It screamed away into the opposite wall.

Half the room exploded.

Sarevok vanished, hurtling free from his feet and snatched away in the opposite direction. Statues and pillars burst. The ceiling lit up and cracked. Evelyn flew up into the air and twisted away. Kivan and Tazok vanished.

Her back hit the wall and then the ground. Somehow, she missed those broken statues. It didn't matter, though. In the next moment, half of them suddenly came crashing down to meet her.

The ceiling broke apart above her. She managed to throw her hands over her head as the stone came tumbling down. Someone howled to one side and she caught brief sight of Angelo as that murdering statue impaling the dead woman collapsed down on top of him. The sound died off all too quickly.

Something hit her arm and bounced off. She pulled both of them tight. Something else struck the side of the head, and then all her muscles seemed to turn to jelly at once. More stones and dust broke down over her, but they stopped almost as quickly as they had come.

Her eyes fluttered open. They flowed languidly back across the room. The ceiling was raining rocks, not a gaping hole but a rock face crumbling piecemeal into the smoothed floor below. No statue was left standing. Half of the mausoleum wall had collapsed in, and fire licked stone everywhere.

She rolled her head to one side. She caught sight of Sarevok, struggling to get up. Her eyes fixed on him for a moment. His sword was gone. He stumbled. Then he managed one knee.

Her head ground stone the other way. She was looking at a blasted and useless forest of crumbling stone columns. The ceiling above had begun to grind down upon that side too.

She blinked, lazily. Then she finally noticed the gleaming steel laying on the floor a few paces away. It took a moment, but then her body threw itself over onto its stomach. It started clawing its way that way.

Dust stuck in her lungs. She choked on it, swiping broken stone aside with a numb arm. The whole place seemed to shake around her. It took an eternity, but her fingers were closing about cold metal. She pulled it toward her. One arm pushed the ground down and away.

Elbow. Arm. Hand. Knee. Foot. Knee again. Then she was standing.

She turned back.

Sarevok was on his feet, not far away. He did not see her. She started hobbling toward him, Kara-Turian blade dangling from one hand.

The man's back was to her. Her fingers tightened about the hilt in her hand. The whole chamber shook, and she lost her footing for a moment. When she gained it back … a bellowing roar slapped at her ears.

Her eyes fluttered, and she nearly fell again. She still managed to turn her head, though. The sight churned liked a thick mist for a moment, and she could have almost wondered if she was dreaming. The throbbing pain echoing through her skull seemed all too real, though.

Tazok loomed to one side of her. The half-Ogre had a smaller man trapped between his two massive hands. They were closed about that other one's throat, lifting him up high against what was left of the shattered wall. The smaller man's eyes bugged out, his hands clutched fiercely at the ones holding his own throat. They already knew he was dead.

Evelyn stumbled. Her head fell low toward the ground, but she caught herself. She sucked in a few heavy breaths and shook her skull free of that fog. Another chunk of the ceiling crashed down close by.

Her eyes found Sarevok. He was still trying to shake some sense into his own battered skull.

_So … close_ …

Then her eyes found the half-Ogre and the ranger. Kivan's eyes were half-lidded, one of his fists pounding weakly at the other's arm, teeth bared. Tazok was reeling back with his own massive fist, aiming for the smaller man's skull. There was almost nothing left of the beast's tattered armor, and she could see the pale, yellow flesh beneath, broken and bruised. It rippled above the muscle as he drew back.

Sarevok had twisted back towards her. His eyes fixed with hers. She met them, half-stepping again that 's strangled voice crying out vengefully with the last of its breath forced her to stumble short.

Sarevok started to move. But he was too slow.

Her eyes squeezed shut, torn there between. Her body refused to move. But she made it.

It all seemed so slow. It was almost too easy. Her arm swung back. And then … that blade flew free.

Tazok grunted. Then he staggered back. Kivan crashed down to his feet, and the half-Ogre stumbled back into the room toward those shallow steps where Sarevok had stood. The Kara-Turian blade jutted out of his back. It took a moment, but the ranger pulled himself back up, and leapt after him.

Evelyn opened her eyes.

The ranger threw himself into the air, catching the half-Ogre with one hand. Tazok snatched him up blindly. Kivan's hand found the blade buried in the other's flesh, however. He pulled it free, reeled back, and thrust it through the beast's throat.

Evelyn turned back toward Sarevok. When she did, he was standing in front of her.

The man's dark eyes fixed with hers, and she stopped dead in her tracks. She studied him for a moment. His dusky face was sober, collected – peaceful. Those dark eyes searched hers. She stared right back, frowning.

And then she looked down. She almost didn't see his hand nestled there against her stomach.

She blinked. And then she looked back up at him.

Gorion's dagger slipped free and her jaw fell open. All of the breath seemed to rip itself right out of her lungs with that steel. She gasped, the sound echoing loudly in the crumbling darkness. Her eyes fixed on the man before her, his cold, calm gaze locked upon her as well. She felt blood come suddenly spilling out.

Her hands caught the other's arms, and she almost fell into him. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. All she could do was stare … trembling, and wide-eyed.

Then the dagger thrust in again.

Whatever was left of her strength fled out from her legs. They buckled, and she fell with a soundless cry.

The other let her go. He let the dagger go too. Evelyn tumbled down to her knees, eyes drifting down to the steel jutting out of her stomach. They floated back up toward the man above her once more.

And then she toppled over to the floor.

Sarevok turned and stumbled away toward the center of the room. The Elf was there. He was busy pulling free the blade from Tazok's neck, teeth bared and snarling into the dying beast's face. He didn't see the other, consumed by that terrible moment. The half-Ogre swayed beneath him, somehow still breathing. Black blood dribbled out over his lips, eyes half-lidded as if he were going to sleep. Kivan let the blade fly high back behind him.

Then it came sweeping about for the kill.

It never made it.

Something snatched the ranger's hand. He twisted about in surprise only to have Sarevok's gauntlet crash down across his face. The Elf tumbled aside. Tazok collapsed down into stone.

The black-plated man shook himself like some great beast, head twisting from one side to the other. He looked briefly down toward the fallen half-Ogre, trembling in a pool of his own thickening blood. The man turned away quickly, however, fixing on the ranger instead. Kivan started to pull himself back up. But Sarevok caught him before he did.

The armored demon hauled the Elf up in front of him. Then he sent one mailed fist crashing hard against the ranger's skull. Kivan buckled, but the man kept him up. He hammered into him again, and again. And then he threw him aside.

Half of the ceiling crashed down across the room. Kivan tumbled ahead of it, somehow missing the jagged rocks. He fell flat on his stomach, and lay there, clawing at stone.

Flames danced about. So did rock. Sarevok Anchev stood there, not realizing any of it. He was impossibly still, impossibly calm.

Then he started to laugh.

The demon turned briefly away. He turned back toward that place where the honey-skinned woman had been – where she had been swiftly struck down. The statue had come apart, burying her bloody body somewhere underneath. His dark eyes stared after her just the same.

The room shook. The standing man shook with it. Then he abruptly wrenched back around toward the ranger. That one was hardly moving anymore. Still, the demon's feet stalked swiftly after his fallen form. He hopped around stone, face twisting violently.

And those mighty hands snatched down for the beaten Elf once more.


	86. Chapter 7 Bred in the Bone

_**Bred in the Bone**_

Evelyn's eyes squeezed shut. Tears and blood leaked out the sides and down her face. Her middle had gone numb. She couldn't feel it anymore. She started to curl in around it, wilting. Her father's dagger burrowed a hole there in between.

She was cold. The floor sucked the life from her eagerly, warmth ebbing with every throbbing pulse in her skull. She could feel herself start to fade away with it – into it. Her breathing slowed. Somehow, she couldn't quite get enough to choke on the bile rising in her throat. It crept up the back and poured out through her lips as more blood.

Her heart thumped. Once … twice …

… Again. Everything else had closed in. She couldn't see. She couldn't feel. All she could do was listen to that stumbling beat … as it slowed inside her head. It was so calm. So gentle …

… Peaceful

Something stabbed through – a flash.

Thought whipped violently back at her from afar.

Gorion was playing with her. Magic flared in his hands and she laughed. Winthrop fumbled a bottle and wine splashed out against the inn floor. A dead, half-eaten miner stared up at her. Imoen swatted her in the face with a broom. Jondalar caught her foot and flipped her right over. Kivan handed her a ring.

She stabbed a man in the chest. Coran laughed as he stood naked on the shore. Then he was dead, lying flat on top of another corpse. Xan took a broken blade to the stomach. Suddenly she was untying his hands. A fireball blew the world to pieces.

A young, curly-haired knight had his arm twisted around in hers and hit the ground. Three men stabbed in at a dying Dwarf. She nearly lost her balance atop the Candlekeep walls. Jaheira was hugging her tight. So was Khalid. Gorion slapped a book down in front of her face. She fell off a roof.

Black crow's eyes mirrored hers. She was swallowed in blood. Imoen was pulling her up off the ground. A gnoll dabbed her forehead in blood. The pink-haired woman was dying in her arms. So was Kivan. She wept, cold and alone, buried deep in the catacombs beneath her home. A letter from her father was crumpled in her bloody hand.

She was running through the bright courtyards. Then the world was drowning in rain. Gorion took a sword through the back and out his stomach, a black-plated fiend grinning from behind him as his dark eyes glared bright. Xan was kissing her in an inn. Then she was holding twin fistfuls of his corpse. She was kissing him now. A knife thrust into her stomach.

Her eyes snapped back open.

All at once, she sucked in a ragged breath. Her voice cried it back out wretchedly in the next moment. Sharp, gouging pain pounded in at her stomach. Her eyes were wide open and she started crying. Sobs racked her trembling chest.

Somewhere, something was burning. She was lying on her back, gaze darting wildly, pitifully about. Stone was coming apart all around her, falling piecemeal to the cold floor beneath. Her hand clawed out along it, leaving bloody marks on the carved rock. Her other strayed to that blade jutting out from her stomach. She tried to move her head, but couldn't see it.

She lay there instead, whimpering in the dark. The ground shook, and she didn't move. She just lay there … and let the tears tumble down to either side of her bloody face.

Then she heard something. A voice. A whisper. It crept its way up inside her skull and lay there too, murmuring in the dark.

She didn't hear what it said. She couldn't. There was no sense left in her. She just turned her head away.

It was insistent, though. She let her raging, ragged pulse drown it out. It fought on, but it was already over. She knew that. Not how or why. There was only that blinding pain and the feeling of slipping away toward somewhere else. She didn't know where. She didn't care. But she was going.

Before long, the voice was gone altogether.

She just began to drift …

… And another voice came thundering through the darkness – alien, deep … and terrible.

_My turn_.

Hands were moving. They clawed up against stone, pushing. She was lifting over onto her side, looking down at the blood spilling out onto the floor. A squeak slipped free from her frigid lips. She stared, her eyes going wide and useless. But those hands kept pushing, pulling her back up. Her head lolled to one side. The blood pounding through her skull pushed her to the other.

She was on her knees. It wasn't until then that she realized that those hands were her own. They pulsed. She could almost see the ichor rushing through them, soaking the stone beneath and her flesh both. It threw her back, forcing her up and up. Then she was on her feet.

The chamber was falling apart everywhere around her. She didn't see it. Her eyes lifted up from the floor with the rest of her of their own accord, and looked out across that crumbling expanse. Two men were there, amidst the burning, tumbling stone. One had a hand on the other, pulling him back up from the ground by the throat. He wrenched him around and tossed him over and up along a shallow flight of steps. That one tumbled over until he struck hard stone. He lay there all but still at the top.

The one at the bottom of those steps burned like the sun in her eyes. Light radiated off him like bursting stars in the night sky, flowing out into the room about him so brightly that it was a wonder it all just didn't explode into flames. The scattered fires that did dot the chamber all but faded next to him. He blasted like a furnace, and then stomped up those steps.

The other man was dim – fading. There was almost nothing left. Her eyes passed right over him, sucked back toward that roving beacon of brilliant light.

Something rumbled deep down inside of her. Like the entire ocean slowly, inexorably pushing forward. It was dark.

Her feet started on their own, swept up in it.

Sarevok took his time ascending the steps back toward the dais. The Elf scrabbled along the broken stone at the top. Another piece crashed down from above, hammering into his back and forcing him flat. It rolled off, tumbling down the steps. Sarevok kicked it aside. His dark lips twisted into a rictus grin.

Her hand found the moonblade still somehow wrapped haphazardly about her in its sheath. It tried to pull it free, but the hilt scalded it as if burned. A moment later, Gorion's dagger came away in that hand instead. More blood flowed out after it.

She stumbled, muscles twitching. But that impossibly black thing pushed her dying body forward, dragging it on, unheeding. Its obsidian eyes fixed low on the blaze of life stomping up the steps before it. Something else gleamed in the rubble to one side.

Sarevok reached the top. The ranger flung out at him haphazardly with a brick of broken stone. The dusky man let it strike him full in the chest. Then he whipped back about with a gauntlet to the Elf's face. Kivan slumped back down against the dais behind.

The chamber let out a deep bellowing groan, and a few of those broken pillars across the room stabbed down into the ground below, shattering completely. Flames engulfed everything left in that place, burning away to cinders. Ash and dust choked the air. The Elf gagged on it, coughing blood.

Sarevok's dark eyes burned bright and terrible. His teeth were bared, lips still curling viciously back. He reached a hand down and snatched the other man up, pulling him close.

"I don't even know who you are."

He laughed, the sound low and rich. It beat at the crumbling walls in time to the cadence of cracking stone. The ceiling had all but caved in overhead. The shadows scattered before the fires.

The black-plated man pulled back a gauntleted fist. That grin twisted his face. He seemed to savor it for a moment, even as the world came crashing down around him.

He didn't say anything. He just laughed. He laughed long and hard. The senseless Elf seemed not to mind.

And then the demon sobered. His lips twitched. And his fist crashed forward.

Evelyn's own struck down on his back before it could.

Sarevok grunted, stumbling a step. He lost the Elf.

Then the black-plated man was twisting slowly back around. When he did, that demon wearing her face was there waiting for him.

The gleaming black blade leapt forward from her hands. It thrust in and up at the other. Black-plated mail melted around obsidian steel. It slipped right through and out the other side. Again, the man grunted.

For a moment, Evelyn held it there, both hands on hilt. The other's eyes had gone wide, staring down at her. They abruptly lost their glow. They both stared at the blade then, the one as still as stone and the other breathing raggedly. Eventually, the demons met eye to eye.

And then something slammed into her full force.

All of that light seemed to burst like an overripe bubble. It exploded at her, sucked in through the black blade and racing up her hands, scouring flesh and bone and blood. It exploded into her skull, snapping her head back. She thought she would come apart at the seams in a brilliant flash of bloody ribbons. She screamed.

The other sagged. He screamed with her, his low voice raging even as he toppled down to his knees. Gorion's dagger stuck out of his shoulder just inside the armor. Blood leaked down beneath the black mail. More flowed out over obsidian steel.

And she let go.

She reeled back with a start. She almost fell. Her hands did, shaking, towards her middle. But there was no hole in her stomach anymore. Blood stained her everywhere, but it pulsed excitedly through her veins once more. Everything else washed away in the wake of that swift, raging tide. For a moment, she lost herself in it.

Sarevok looked up at her. Both demons subsided. She felt hers fly back – a black ocean quelled by that raging, brilliant one before. It fell back, sated. Her body was abruptly hers once more.

She suddenly came back to herself. Her eyes fell down to meet his.

Then she snatched him up by both shoulders, and sent him hurtling back out across the room with a roar.

Her voice tore at the walls, all but flaying what was left. Her eyes burned after the dusky-skinned man as he vanished quickly from sight without a sound of his own. Stone and dust and flames blocked her view. One of them crashed right down beside her.

She stumbled, nearly losing her feet. Too much of that strength so suddenly fled. It left her head spinning then.

And when she looked back up … everything was coming apart around her.

Her head was swimming. And her ears were buzzing. She twisted back around, and there was the Elf. Somehow, he was still alive, his lungs sucking in ash-filled air. His back rose and fell sharply.

She reached down, tossing stone aside, and snatched the man up. He was almost weightless in her arm. She tugged his other around her shoulder, his face covered with blood.

She pulled him away.

Evelyn dragged both of them down the steps. A few of them came apart even as she did, huge slabs of rock stabbing into and blowing them apart. Shards burst into her side, slicing at leather, wool, and skin. They reached the bottom and that dais behind was stomped down beneath stone, cracking loud into the chamber.

"Tazok," Kivan mumbled at her side. She tightened her grip around his back.

"Shhh …"

Tazok's bloody, battered corpse passed away to one side. A few more seconds and she heard the stone swallow him whole behind. He was dead.

"It's alright."

The ranger bobbed his head listlessly. A chunk of rock tumbled down ahead of them and she tugged him aside. A pillar cracked, what was left of it slowly toppling over. She worked her legs harder, and it fell behind them.

Steps reached up just ahead. She glanced up toward the broken doors at the top. One was half open.

"Evelyn."

The ground shook as everything fell apart behind them. Flames burst outward, and then died just as quickly in the rush. The smell of ash was nearly overwhelming.

"We're almost there."

She smoothed away some of that blood from his face with the back of a hand. His eyes fluttered open, fixing ahead. His head bobbed heavily with his chest.

They were at those steps. Dust rained down across her bloody face and stuck. She spit the rest out.

"Come on."

She had her foot on the step. That was when the other abruptly jerked back.

Her leg flew out from under her. The rest of her fell flat, and her jaw bounced off one of those steps, snapping her head back. She lost Kivan.

Something pulled her down to the floor. She rolled over onto her back, and the world spun, dark and terrible. A handful of stone splattered against the ground next to her. When her eyes fell down, she could see a familiar dusky face at her heels.

She blinked. The other's eyes were fixed on her, trembling inside his shaking skull. He had a hand on her ankle, holding fast. That black blade was free of his stomach, dangling in one hand where it dragged behind him. He didn't do anything with it, though. He was lying on his side, just behind her. Gorion's dagger was still sticking out of his neck.

He just lay there, his black gaze intense and unwavering. She stared right back. His mouth opened.

"Others will come," he managed. "Sister … They will hunt … you … down …"

Steel scraped against stone. The air seemed to shake. He pulled that blade up from behind him. But he was too slow. She threw a hand at him, snatching the hilt in his hand before he could bring it about. She pulled it away.

The man started laughing. Somehow, he was still laughing. She dragged herself back away from him, and he just laughed. He toppled over onto his elbows and laughed. The sound echoed louder and louder. She watched.

"Evelyn!" someone snapped, rasping at her.

Kivan was tugging at her arm, pulling her up. The black steel scraped along stone as she let him. He pulled her haphazardly away, barely keeping his own feet. That laughing followed them all the way up those steps.

The door loomed ahead. Kivan had to let her down, breathing too hard almost to move himself. She twisted around, pulling herself up. She yanked at him, and he nodded. They pushed ahead.

She could still hear Sarevok, fading away into the groaning stone all about. Her head grew heavy, filling with it. Kivan stumbled ahead a step.

Then the sound stopped. The roaring drowned it out.

Something struck her in the shoulder and she went down. Kivan scrambled along the stone to keep his own balance, one hand latched firmly onto hers. He didn't get far, though. The last of that place came crashing down then. Dust swallowed everything all around them. And then stone. The door was the last to go. But it did.

And then the old temple was gone.


	87. Chapter 7 Eulogy

_**Eulogy**_

"Over here."

A couple more hands reached down into the rubble. They hauled away another huge slab of it. It took a few moments, but the piece of ancient carved stone was up in the air and off the ground. A giant relief of a glaring skull jutted out from the one side of it. Then it was crashing into the broken earth down below. It burst into a dozen pieces.

The one man in his sullied fine tunic paused, staring. The others, all dressed in mail, kept on picking chunks of stone out of the mound and tossing them away below. A few voices called out. Torchlight flickered on posts all about. Eventually, that one man started digging again too.

It was a long, slow process. They had already been at it for over an hour. Soon enough, the grand duke came around again, picking his way up toward where they dug.

"Look lively, men," a Fist sergeant called up to them at the duke's side, cupping his mouth. "The Grand Duke wants to hear some good news soon for a change!"

A few of those men in plate grunted and grumbled, but they mostly ignored the sergeant. The one man in the dirty, nobleman's garb didn't even bother to look up.

"I want that traitor's body for the Wide tomorrow," he heard the grand duke say. He couldn't help a grimacing twitch of his lips at the words. But Eltan and the sergeant were already moving away again.

It was still dark down there in the Undercity … or whatever it was supposed to be called. The torchlight only did so much there in the bowels of the earth. It didn't matter much anymore anyways. The whole place was a useless, blasted ruin.

A squad of Flaming Fist were scattered about the rubble, picking their way into the debris. Most of them were chipping away at what remained of the temple now. None of them had been overly pleased at being roused and readied at such an hour. Most of them had probably expected to see some violence with their blades buckled tight and in full armor. They had been disappointed.

The rest of the bodies that could be found in that mess had already been dragged out into an open space before the temple. There weren't even a dozen in all. Most of them were in pieces. But not one of them was the one the grand duke wanted. Not one of them was the one he had come all that way down there to find.

The one man in the sullied suit paused again, straightening with a deep breath. He had been down there longer than any of them already. The acrid stench of that burnt place had begun to make him lightheaded. He had stayed behind after all of the others had gone. He was the only one that could.

The pink-haired young woman had tried. Oh, she had tried so desperately when she had finally caught sight of the broken temple and been told just what lie crushed beneath it. The one half-Elven woman had had to hold her back, even though she could hardly stand herself. When the dark-skinned wizardress finally teleported them away, everyone had left but the one man. He had waited there until Grand Duke Eltan and his Fist had come.

They were digging in that rubble for the body of a dead man. It all seemed so pointless. But that was what the grand duke had desired in coming down there with his few mages. They were scouring the wastes for a symbol – one that they could show the people tomorrow morning and tell them just why they had suffered. There would be vengeance for that suffering. A hero last night would become a monster on the block that morning. That was their reason for being there at all.

That was not why the one man was down there, though. That was not why he had stayed down there even after the others had gone. He helped pull away at that broken mess right alongside them, receiving no few curious frowns in return. But not one of them cared too much one way or the other. That whole ordeal was just a chore to them now.

But not so to the one man in his dirty, torn, bloody, and burnt tunic. He pawed at that mess a little bit more. There was something else he needed to find there buried beneath it. If not for nothing … if not for a watchful god … if not for an oath sworn what felt like ages ago … then for him. If for nothing else, then for him.

Eventually, though, they reached the cracked stone floor of the temple beneath that mound of rock. It was hard to tell. But once they reached it, the man's hand scuffing away dust to smooth rock, he was sure. They had reached the bottom. They had been at it for too long already. And they had found nothing. Not one thing.

The man pulled back, even as those Fist kept on around him. The man in his sullied clothes took a step back. It had been a vain hope, he supposed. Though, that was hard to accept. But he had to, he was beginning to realize now. He told himself that. He stared at that broken pile of stone and rock and told himself that. There was nothing else to be done.

He paused there, for a moment. Somehow, he felt as if he should have been able to say something – _do_ something. His eyes roamed over that blasted ruin, not entirely seeing it. There was nothing left to say, though. Still, he could not help that yawning feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was not from a god. It was not from failure. If it had been, then every rock tossed away from that broken temple would have helped to fill it just that much more. But they didn't. It just grew worse with each one. It was just … empty.

At that, he turned away. He did it sharply, abruptly. All hope flung out as quickly as he could throw it from his heart. That was the easiest way – a clean cut. He breathed in deep.

And then he started back down.

None of the men said anything to him as he finally left. He doubted any of them cared. But he did. He should have. Every step was a new chasm opening wide behind. Soon enough, there was no turning back.

The mages were standing down near the grand duke below. They had kept those portals open so that anyone could reach Eltan should they have need. Grand Duke Aaron Belt was still attempting to deal with the mess in the city. The one man thought about that, and thought about home. He thought it might be just about time to go back.

His heart lightened a little, and his step picked up. He even managed not to wince. The portal loomed before him.

"Returning to your friends, boy?" the Grand Duke Eltan grumbled as the one man passed him. He only nodded in return, not stopping.

"I'm sure Belt has got them kept well back in the Palace. You will all have your reward for this service, rest assured."

The one man in the dusty, burnt tunic paused in his step at that. He glanced slowly back about toward the grand duke. The other man caught his eyes briefly, and then turned away to the broken temple. The one man nodded to himself, but did not say anything. Eventually, he just turned back around.

The portal gleamed a dull, incandescent glow. It faded in and out, like a flowing mirror. Through it, he could just make out the pristine floors back in the Ducal Palace. They had been swept clean of blood and corpses.

He glanced briefly back toward the temple. In the end, it didn't really matter, he supposed. Then he turned back around. He took one last deep breath.

And he stepped through.

Or tried to. Someone shouting out from behind stopped him dead in his tracks.

He snatched himself back from the brink, twisting back around. A few of those Fist were moving about excitedly atop the broken temple, pulling up chunks of debris and tossing them hurriedly aside. It was the loudest thing that place had heard in hours.

Grand Duke Eltan moved forward a step, peering hopefully ahead. The younger man pushed even further, forcing his way past him.

He hesitated for only a moment more. Then he was charging back up toward the ruins.

The men had dug themselves into a crater. Their heads and arms bobbed above the rim, slabs of broken and burnt stone heaving over the sides. The one man stomped his way up to them, climbing and leaping his way up the mound. Eventually, he reached them.

Two of the Fist hauled another huge slab of rock over as he neared. They pushed it aside, as the one man crested the rise. Then he was looking down, catching his breath at the hole beneath him.

One of the Fist ducked down, peering inside. The torchlight poured in too, and a hand reached up to ward it away. It led back to a body covered in dust beneath, eyes squinting up into that bright. It coughed.

Ajantis stood, and stared down. The breath had caught in his throat. But he recognized that face below there then. He could just make it out. It was Elven. He took a hasty step closer, and … there it was. Another.

Kivan blinked up, even as the Flaming Fist began pulling away at that space anew, uttering encouragement toward the two buried beneath and shouting back down to the grand duke and anyone near. The knight had eyes only for the woman half-covered in stone and dust down there, however. The Elf's arm was squeezed tight about her, and her eyes were shut. But she was alive, he knew. Hurt, but still breathing.

And now she was safe.

Ajantis hopped down into that space, and pushed over toward the widening hole. Two of the Fist pulled away a broken beam and chunk of pillar stone, and the knight hesitated only a moment as he eyed the Elf hugging the woman tight. Then he was sticking a hand down toward the man.

"Let's get you out of there."

* * *

Evelyn stood with her arms folded over her chest, peering out through the glass of the window. It was taller than her, with plush purple curtains crowding the view to either side, golden cord holding them back up to the wall. She almost did not see the man coming to stand at her side.

She didn't have to look to know it was Kivan. The Elf joined her in peering intently down toward the Wide far away below. The crowds of people there were hard to miss, bunched close in the streets as they were. Their eyes were all drawn toward the spectacle at its center, and so were hers. She frowned.

The voices couldn't be heard from the upper apartments of the Ducal Palace, but she didn't have to hear them to guess at what was being said. One man was bouncing up and down along the edge of the crowd, quite excited. A few moments later, he made a grand flourish. And then four horses bolted away in separate directions. The body they had been tied to burst into half a dozen pieces.

"Was there something you wanted?"

Eventually, she looked toward the Elf. His eyes were still fixed on that scene far below.

"I came to tell you that I was leaving."

She studied him for a moment. Those brown eyes flashed toward her briefly. They weren't quite so hard anymore. Not quite so penetrating.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. She bobbed her head slightly.

"There's nothing left for you to do now."

He looked at her. She only stared right back.

"Where will you go?" she asked after a moment. That small smile still flecked her lips.

He glanced away, back out the window. The crowd had long since erupted in a bout of cheering.

"Arvandor," he told her without a second thought. He nodded his head. "First I will go home. Then to Arvandor." His face twisted slightly at that scene below.

"No one deserves it more than you," she said simply.

His eyes found hers again. They studied her for a moment. A long moment. Eventually, she had to break the silence once more.

"Then this is goodbye, Kivan."

He didn't say anything in return. Instead he stood there, silent, and impassive. His bluff face was a mask. She didn't bother to read it. She didn't have to. Her lips twitched just a little more.

It was the end, and they had seen it through together … just like they promised. Just like _she_ had promised so long ago. Kivan had come out of it just short of death, but he had hardly been the worst. Minsc, by far, had been much more so. It was a miracle he had survived at all, though she was sure that Jaheira had had something to do with it. The woman had hardly had enough strength left before Belt's priests managed to get a hold of them all. It was a wonder any of them had survived at all.

Imoen had survived. Her best friend had been bloody, and battered. But she had lived. So had Khalid – the man blasted to a bruised and blackened pulp – but he had lived. Most of them had been moved to a single ward where those priests and priestesses were taking care of them. Dynaheir had not dared to leave her guardian's side, only smiling strangely when Evelyn assured the giant Rashemi that it was all over now. She had begun to wonder just when they would leave now that it was.

The two Rashemi were in no condition to travel yet, though. Kivan hardly seemed much better. But he was not the first to think to leave.

Ajantis had come to her first, soon after they had first pulled her from the rubble and dragged her back out into the world of the living. She had been in the best shape out of all of them, somehow. She thought she knew why. The knight had not looked hurt, and he had stayed down there looking for them in the rubble until Eltan's Fist finally dug them out.

He had told her he was leaving too. He had finished his quest to fight a great evil, she supposed. She might have stopped to wonder how he had gotten himself so far afield with it before then, but it really didn't matter too much. He had lived too. But that had not been all of it.

No, he had made her a promise too. Like that stupid oath he had sworn to her back in the Cloakwood. He had snatched her hand in both of his and made her a promise.

"_I think I understand now,"_ he had told her. _"It all makes a sort of sense now that I can look back on it."_

She had only frowned at him, not sure just what he meant. That had hardly ever daunted him before, though.

"_The Elf died for you, Evelyn," _he had continued bluntly, and she actually felt a bit of anger at that. He had seemed not to notice._ "He died protecting you from harm." _Those brown eyes had winced, looking up at her_. "How can I ever compare with that?"_

He had demanded it of her gently, as if she would have had an answer. She hadn't had one for him at the time. Still, he hadn't needed one from her.

"_I can," _he had told her_. "I will. I promise you that."_

She hadn't had the words for him at the time. Not the ones he needed anyways. She supposed now it wouldn't have mattered anyways.

"_I will become a paladin knight, my Lady. I will prove myself once and for all."_

He had taken her hand then. She had not bothered to stop him that time.

"_And when I am worthy of you, Evelyn," _he had finished at the last, _"then I will come back for you. You will see me again someday. You will._"

He had left soon after that. She had said goodbye to him too. It was such a simple thing now.

She started to turn away from the ranger now too. It was no different for him. But he caught her before she could. He moved in swiftly, and wrapped his arms about her. He hugged her.

For a moment, she was too surprised to do anything. For a moment, she wasn't quite sure what to do. But then she knew. Then she was wrapping her own arms back around him. She hugged him too.

"I'm sorry," he told her, uttering into her ear.

She only squeezed back, rocking slightly with him.

"She'll be waiting for you."

He pulled back slowly at that. She was still smiling up at him. After a few more moments, he nodded his head.

"Goodbye, Evelyn."

He turned away without another word. She watched him go. She watched him stalk back out from her apartment, travel pack and bow slung across his back. He vanished into the hall, and was gone.

She remembered that day when they had first met. She remembered him helping pick her up after her father had died. She remembered them taking revenge for them both together at the very end.

She stared after him a long time.

Eventually, she turned away. Something caught her eye as she did. It was a little book poking out from a multitude of others on a shelf. She looked at it for a moment, studying the little skull emblem painted into its leather binding. After a moment, she took a step toward the shelf. She pulled the book free.

"History of the Dead Three."

She read the title aloud to herself, sweeping one finger gently across the script. It reminded her of another time, and another place. That smile came back to her lips, and she pulled out a chair with her free hand from a desk tucked against the wall. A moonblade in its sheath lay sprawled across it. She sat down, and opened the book.

She started to read.


	88. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

"Morgan."

The silver-haired commander perked up further down the line at hearing his name. He started to creep over, pushing his way quietly past the other men with his hands as he went. After a few moments, he reached the other.

"We're in position, my lord," the commander whispered. "We've got men ready at both entrances." He pointed. "Two more teams will be moving in to scale the walls to either side. Archers are stationed there," he thrust a hand out again, "and there. They're waiting for our signal."

"Our wizards?" the other man asked.

"Still at bay," the silver-haired man told him. "Holding, until the wards come down. They have this place sealed down tighter than we expected," he muttered at the last.

"We weren't quite sure just _what_ to expect," the other man reminded him. The commander nodded simply enough. "We still don't. Remember that."

The other looked away, gazing back out over the low stone wall that they crouched down behind. A castle loomed across a rolling expanse of hills ahead and beyond. It was wedged into the side of a shallow cliff, low stone walls and parapets cascading out into the land about. It was old, and the road leading up toward its two front gates was little more than beaten dirt, weeds sprouting up everywhere throughout. None of the local peoples bothered to keep it up. They all assumed the place haunted by foul spirits. Normally, that would have just been exaggerated superstition. Tonight, though, they were all too right.

They had sailed in just earlier that afternoon. Soon enough so that their target could not have been the wiser nor had enough time to escape. It was a beautiful country – the Moonshae Isles – besides. At least, he thought so. He had never visited it before that day so desperately in the making.

Night had come on quickly. He might have almost marveled at that, but he thought he knew why. Black arts would be at play. He could smell them all too clearly in the air even from there.

They had just a handpicked team of men, loyal agents and swift movers and thinkers. They would need that kind of skill. That night was going to be one that demanded all of it from them if they were to succeed. They would be quick, and decisive. Anything else, and they would fail.

A hand touched his arm. It was Morgan.

He looked down at the man. Then he nodded.

"It is time," he said simply.

Morgan was already moving. But the other man caught his arm before he could give the signal.

"Remember," he added quietly. His crystalline blue eyes bored holes into the other. "We leave none alive."

The man did not hesitate. He canted his head quickly enough.

"Of course."

Gorion let him go. The man gave that signal.

And then it began.

* * *

The gray-haired man picked his way careful through the corridor. It shook even as he did so, another blast sounding not so far away. Footsteps pounded down another passage close by, and so did more shouting voices. A few screams followed. They melted away into the stone walls.

His boots crunched. He glanced down briefly, eying the viscera-stained bones lying there. It almost seemed as if someone had left just the entrails on that flayed corpse. He paid it no mind.

An opening loomed ahead to his left – a door. All at once, a woman came rushing out of it, charging into the hallway. She hardly had time to blink before the old man's hands were up and loosing magic. Both the woman, and the infant cradled in her arms burned away to ash in an instant.

He pushed his way on, swiping a hand through the air to ward off the dust. Some of it clung to his robes. He slid up soundlessly against the wall beside that door. And then he slipped inside.

Another woman was within. Her back was too him, and she was frantically fiddling with something atop a pedestal before her. Blood stained her dark dress. It was splattered all through her beautiful, shadowy tresses.

"Hello, Evelyn."

The woman's head whipped instantly back about. She sucked in a startled breath. Gorion had stopped just inside the room. For a moment, he left his hands down at his sides.

The woman stared at him for a long while. Then her face abruptly twisted.

"You did this?" she demanded vengefully, twisting the rest of her body around. She held the stone pedestal behind her in both hands, the knuckles white, and glaring. The other only stiffened where he stood.

"I loved you, Evelyn," he answered simply.

She just shook her head.

"Stop calling me that," she spat back. "It was a lie. It was all just a big, stupid lie."

He scowled at her, taking a step forward. "And what should I call you now? Witch? Temptress?" He shook his own head. "You must have known that this could never be allowed to take place. As soon as the Harpers learned of your–"

"Your Harpers are nothing!" she hissed at him of a sudden. "_You_ … are nothing." A cruel smile flashed over her soft lips. "What were your promises before that of a god? He loved me more than you ever could!"

"You _FOOL_!" he snarled at her, seizing another step. "You have no idea what you've done! What you are trying to do!"

She swung her head violently from side to side, opening her mouth. But he didn't dare let her speak another word.

"What are _you_ to a god? A _dead_ god!" He stopped there just ahead of her. "He has used you and will use you. He would take your life in an instant and leave you a desiccated husk … just to suit his whims!"

She bared her teeth at him. There were angry tears in her eyes. They burned at Gorion's own as well.

"I _loved_ you …"

His voice was pleading. But there was nothing left of that woman in the one that stood before him then.

"And so you've come to kill me," she declared coldly. "My Lord of Murder did nothing of the sort." Her mouth twisted in scorn. "What good is your justice?"

He stiffened, and lowered his chin.

"You cannot be allowed to live." His blue eyes burned bright into her dark ones. "This black ritual cannot ever be allowed a chance to survive."

He raised a hand.

"I'm sorry, Evelyn."

"Alianna," she spat at his feet. Those fierce eyes stabbed out at him. "You remember my true name when you leave this place. You will find no comfort in the memory of that lie." She shook her head slowly.

His teeth ground tight. There really was nothing left in that dark vessel before him. Nothing … but hate.

She leapt at him. She leapt at him even as light flared to life in his hand. Her voice screamed out, lashing at the walls. Then she vanished in a brilliant flash. One moment, she was there. The next … smoking cinders scattered across the floor. They drifted slowly, lazily down to rest. Only the echo remained for a moment. And then that died too.

The silence was deafening. Gorion froze where he stood, hand stretched out before him. He stared after that empty space where the woman had been. He stared at it, and could not look away. He thought he might stay there forever.

But then he heard something. Something erupted in the stillness. He blinked at the suddenness of it, and the fact that it was there at all. He came back to himself abruptly then.

A baby was crying.

He looked down. Alianna had been blocking his view of it before. But he could see now. There, on that pedestal, lay a child.

His hand fell, slowly. It leveled with that child.

He did not have to think to know just what the nature of that creature was. The ceremonial dagger lying next to the naked child as it bawled confirmed any suspicion he might have had. But there were none. His lips curled back in a snarl.

That … _thing_ … it was the spawn of hellfire and demon seed. It was the progeny of hate, and betrayal. He remembered everything that he had loved about the woman who had called herself Evelyn. He remembered everything that he had been willing to sacrifice for her. But it _had_ been a lie. It had all been … just a lie.

And then that look faded from his face. He stared down at that child – its slightly dusky skin. He caught a glimpse of dark, almond-shaped eyes. A girl. Its chubby face was scrunched tight, wailing. A few flimsy strands of dark hair sprouted out from the top of its little head.

Before he knew it, he had taken a step forward. He stood right in that place where Alianna had been.

He laid a hand over the child, studying it. It kept on crying. He felt magic forming on his lips, readying in his fingertips. He stared at the girl for a long time.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

"My lord, Gorion!"

Someone shouted out his name in surprise. In the next moment, an out-of-breath Commander Morgan appeared at his side.

"My lord," he breathed, turning excited eyes on him, "we've taken the castle." He sucked in a breath. "All of the priests and priestesses have been captured or slain. They did not have time to complete the ritual. We arrived just in time!"

Gorion did not look at him. Instead he kept his eyes down on that child. She had stopped crying, staring back up at him.

"What of the Children?" he asked the other man. The commander only shook his head.

"Dead," he said. "Most of them. Some of the priestesses claim that not all of their ilk made it to the Isles in time. Others were sure that some escaped. We slew every Child we could …"

"But you did not kill them all," Gorion finished for him. The other man caught sight of the one in his grasp then.

"No," he said after a moment. "We cannot be sure. But without their cult leaders they will be unable to ever perform the ritual anyways. Bhaal will remain where he is. Dead."

They were both staring at the child on the stone now. The commander opened his mouth once more.

"Another Child, my lord." He turned those eyes on the older man. "What are you waiting for? Kill it."

Gorion looked to the ceremonial dagger next to the baby for a moment. Then his gaze fell back on the girl. Her head was bobbing about, fishing for other sights in the room. Unheeding.

"Alaundo does not lie," he said, finally. The other man snatched his arm, giving him an incredulous look.

"We leave none alive, my lord," he said softly, brow furrowing. "Your words. _Our_ orders."

But the older man only stared back at him, saying nothing. After another moment, he looked back to the child.

"If you are unwilling to do the deed," the commander pressed on darkly, "then stand aside."

But he didn't. The other man had his blade still held tightly in hand, blood drenching its length.

"My lord …" he uttered icily, staring hard at the older man. Gorion said nothing.

Eventually, the commander pulled back. He swung that blade up of a sudden, high over his head.

Gorion's hand snapped up, palm out and facing him. All at once, the other man froze where he was, not daring to move. His fierce eyes flashed back toward the older man.

"You know what we came here to do!" he hissed. "This was _your_ mission!"

But the older man only stared at him, face hard and impassive. Still, he said nothing.

The commander glared at him for long moments. Neither of them moved. And the silence stretched on against the backdrop of the screams of dead and dying. Eventually, the other man looked away.

"I am sorry, my lord …" he said, even as he pulled back on that blade once more. And then it swept down.

It never made it to the child. Instead, the commander's chest lit up like a beacon before it could.

He exploded.

Gorion let his hand back down. The silence came on once more. Before it had time to deepen, though, he was scooping that child up in his arms and holding her close.

More footsteps sounded in the hall then. Before anyone else could appear inside the room, however, Gorion had slipped that child in his arm inside the folds of his robes.

Three more of his command appeared in the doorway. They came to a hasty stop at the sight of the old man standing there alone amidst the dead ashes.

The first man amongst the three moved first, stepping forward and gazing quickly about the room. Each had a weapon in hand, still ready for battle.

That man looked perplexed when he came back to Gorion. His dark eyes found the old man's own.

"We have taken the keep, my lord," he said, frowning confusedly. Gorion straightened where he stood.

The other's eyes swept the room quickly once more. "Commander Morgan?" He let his blade droop just a little.

Gorion held his gaze for a moment. Then he looked aside toward the bits of rent mail and charred stone that still littered the floor. The other man followed his gaze.

They stared in silence for a few more moments. Then Gorion opened his mouth.

"The priestess is dead."

The younger man's face twitched ever so slightly. Then it was smooth again.

"You are in command now, Lieutenant Commander."

The other bobbed his head simply. He glanced back toward the two men behind him.

"Tell the men," he started, and then faltered. His voice choked ever so slightly. "Tell the men to sweep the rest of the castle grounds. I need them _secure_."

"Aye, Commander," one man said, followed immediately by the other. They both bowed their heads, sheathed their blades, and hurried away.

It was just the old man and the lieutenant commander then. The officer looked back toward those piles of ashes for a long time.

"See to your men, Commander." Gorion finally broke the silence. "They have had their victory here today."

The man blinked up at him, though. He started to shake his head, but thought better of it. He turned away instead, slowly, and began pushing his blade back into its sheath.

A sound interrupted them, however. It sounded suspiciously like a child cooing.

The lieutenant commander froze. Silence followed.

Gorion did not move. The officer stood there, blade half-sheathed and unmoving as well.

Eventually, his eyes flashed back toward the older man.

"See you on the other side, my lord," he said simply. Then he turned and strode briskly away.

"Goodbye, Galvarey."

After another moment, the child was slipping free of his robes. Its noises had broken the ensuing stillness once more.

He stared down into that chubby face. It gazed back up at him, and cooed. A smile briefly touched his lips.

"I think I'll call you Evelyn," he told the child.

It said nothing back, only rubbed its little mostly-bald head into his chest and fell asleep. He did smile then. He bobbed his head.

And then he turned away, and left.


End file.
